


Bubbles

by frafeyrac



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Crush, Boarding School AU, Enjolras can't admit it, Enjolras loathes Grantaire, Grantaire does it on purpose, Grantaire is that guy you hate to love, I promise to try and not to have spoilers in the tags, Implied Underage, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Multi, References to Underage Sex, Underage Drinking, Warnings May Change, stupid stupid boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frafeyrac/pseuds/frafeyrac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Enjolras thinks too much, he thinks of red and black and the colours in between. He’s no artist, no poet. His words on paper are poor and worthless and it’s only when he speaks, when he can breathe life into each syllable and people turn to him and listen that he feels like he has something he can share with the world. He wants equality, he wants freedom and he knows that great people achieve great things and one day he could be great. He thinks of these things, of the leader he could be, the leader he <i>will</i> be. He thinks of dark curls and smirks that make him ball his hands into fists and the bruises on his palms from his nails and how his heart maybe does sink a little when he can’t see the grey beanie hat or the green cardigan when he speaks. He thinks too much.</p>
  <p><b>disclaimer</b> I have no beta and awful French and English grammar. Apologies in advance.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Présentation

Enjolras throws his heart and soul into everything he does and it’s his best and his worse quality. He talks with the passion and conviction that some of the academics that teach him lack and there’s something hypnotising about the words that spill from his mouth and the loud confidence that comes when he speaks in front of a crowd. He speaks with the conviction of someone more than a sixteen year old schoolboy and it’s why his so-called ‘club’ has the members it has today, or at least, the members who aren’t just there to have another extra-curricular activity to add to their university applications.

There’s only one member of the group younger than he is, Jehan from the year below, and Enjolras knows that the older boys, especially those in their last year of school sometimes question his leadership. It’s Combeferre that keeps them in line with his soft spoken beliefs and the advantage of being one of the older boys in his last year of school. It’s Joly who makes the tea and laughs at everyone’s jokes and Courfeyrac who shares Enjolras’s passions and throws himself into the heart of the group. Feuilly tries his hardest to attend as many meetings as possible, but his sport meets often clash and he relies on Courfeyrac to tell him what he’s missed. There are others too who drop in and out and come to meetings whenever they can, like Bosuett who seems to spend his time between his dorm and detention and Bahorel who’s in so many clubs and societies he can’t keep track of them himself.

And then there was Grantaire, Grantaire who made Enjorlas ball his hands into fists when he saw him sat there at the back of the room with his beanie hat and his coffee. Grantaire who never spoke a word and seemed to go out of his way to irritate Enjolras in every way he possibly could. Grantaire was never seen without his coffee and the others boys all liked him. He was one of the only ones old enough to buy alcohol and he would sometimes bring a six pack of beer with him to meetings. It was Grantaire who laughed at Enjolras, marked out amongst the group by his red blazer embroidered with the school crest. Enjolras never had time to change like the others, each of them school boarders. He knew Grantaire only bothered to turn up for an extra group for his university applications.

Their meetings were always held on Wednesday’s, it was the only day the headmaster had agreed to let Enjolras run his group, claiming it was an extra-curricular debating club and only just getting away with it. As usual, it was Grantaire who strolled in late in the middle of one of Enjolras’s speeches. He scowled as Grantaire loudly pulled a chair out from under a table so he could sit and face Enjolras. Grantaire wasn’t in his usual place in the back corner of the room and Enjolras broke his stride, stumbling over his words in surprise and struggling to regain his place amongst his cue cards. Grantaire had smirked and Enjolras had felt a fist curl into a ball at his side, looking away and regaining his place. When he’d finished he sat down on the edge of the table, taking his mug of tea from Joly and watching Courfeyrac as he stood, unfolding the paper where his words were written so he could speak. Grantaire wasn’t even listening, there were two white wires down the front of his shirt that were connected to the phone in his hand and Enjolras could feel his annoyance bubbling as Grantaire bobbed his head, and his fingers tapped silently on his thigh. He sat with narrowed eyes and a scowl, focused on Graintaire and how he rocked on the back two legs of his chair and let the front feet fall with a bang that interrupted Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac shot him a withering look, not bothering to finish his speech and returning to his seat.

“Monsieur Béringer has asked as to organise another debate.” Combeferre said, loudly enough to be heard over the laughter that erupted round the room. The debates were a joke, a cover so that their group could meet.

“We should do one on the private school system, ‘This house believes private schools offer more than public schools.’” Bosuette laughed, “I’ll speak against the motion.”

“I’ll speak against, too.” Courfeyrac raised his hand and Combeferre nodded, having taken his notebook out of his bag and he scribbled down their names.

“Who’s turn is it for speaking?” Enjolras asked, Combeferre flicked back a few pages of his notebook.

“Everyone is equal, apart from,“ Combeferre pauses as he scans his charrt and Enjolras knows the name that Combeferre is about to say, he knows he’s about to say _Grantaire_ because of course Grantaire hasn’t spoken. Grantaire doesn’t care for their cause and trying to keep their cover, Grantaire only comes because it’s something to add to his UCAS form. “Grantaire hasn’t spoken once this term.” Even Combeferre seems to scowl a little at that. 

“So Grantaire, will you speak then? Fuck knows we’ve been waiting to hear it long enough.” Couferyac smiles but Graintaire is still listening to his music and Enjolras can hear the faint ‘dum dum dum’ that leaks through his headphones. Courfeyrac taps his shoulder and Grantaire’s eyes widen slightly and he uncrosses his legs as he pulls his headphones out.

“It’s your turn to speak.” Enjolras doesn’t quite sound as irritated as he wants to.

“What?” Grantaire is smirking again and if Enjolras didn’t have impeccable self-control he would be slapping that smirk off of his face right now.

“We have to debate. You haven’t spoken once this term, once this year. It’s your turn Grantaire.” Enjolras is trying his best not to shout at him and snap whilst he’s in front of his friends. 

“I’ll do the next one, I’m busy.” Grantaire swings on his chair and Enjolras’s hands ball into fists again.

“You don’t even know when this debate is happening, you _have_ to speak. There’s no backing out of it.” Enjolras is reminding himself to breathe deeply and his short nails are starting to dig into his palms. 

“I’ll do the next one, I’ll even choose the topic so I have to speak.” Grantaire lets his chair tip forward and land on the floor again. Enjolras feels like he could punch a wall, feels like he’d probably get more response from a wall. It’s Courfeyrac’s interruption that stops him from snapping some insulting retort back at Grantaire.

“I have a friend who’s said he’d like to get involved. He won’t mind if I say he’ll argue for the motion I’ll bring him along next time sure, you’d like him Enjolras.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eye that he shares with Joly, and Jehan raises his hand.

“Feuilly will probably agree to argue for, I’ll see him in the dorm later and ask him then.” 

Combeferre looks up from where he’s been writing in his notebook.

“Courf, what’s your friend’s name?”

“Marius Pontmercy, in lower sixth. He joined this September.”  
Enjolras recognises his name, but he’s not sure why. He can’t put a face to Marius’s name and assumes he has one of those names that everyone talks about. Marius is still older than he is, but not by as much as the upper sixth boys who are two, even three years older than him. There’s a comradery amongst them that comes from sharing classes and dorms and Enjolras knows that he’s lucky to have been included. He’s just a day pupil and he’s only here because his last school threw him out two years ago, and his mother decided she didn’t want him far from home. She works in the city and takes him to and from school on her way to and from work. Enjolras knows she often doesn’t come for him until six o’clock in the evening and he spends a lot of time in the dorms with Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Joly. Sometimes he even sees Grantaire in the dorms, but truth be told he keeps himself to his rooms and often only appears when he’s going down to the lawns to smoke. 

It’s half five when they decide to finish the meeting, and Combeferre waits with Enjolras until six, when his phone vibrates and his mother calls to tell him she’s running late, and won’t be there to get him until at least half six. Combeferre invites him to play pool with them up in the dorms, and Enjolras agrees because he’s been able to play pool since he was eight and his cousin taught him. 

He knows the way to the dorms, across the lawn and up the red brick stairs of Toussaint House. The dorms for the sixth form are in the attics, and when he climbs the stairs Joly and Courfeyrac have set the table up in the common room. Jehan has joined them, even though the attic rooms are reserved for sixth form and above he always seems to slip through the fingers of the matron who patrols the boarding house. Enjolras takes a cue from Joly and its _Grantaire_ who breaks the triangle. Enjolras had no idea Grantaire played pool, and no idea that he would end up playing against him. He feels uncomfortable as he leans across the table, and as he looks over his shoulder he can see the smirk on Grantaire’s face as he watches him. Enjolras misses his ball, the cue ball cracking off a yellow but he fails to pot the red ball he was aiming for. Courfeyrac climbs on the table, and it’s by luck that he manages to pot a yellow ball that ricochets off the cushion and into one of the pockets. Pool is a game traditionally played with two players, but the students have learnt to adapt so three or four can play at once. 

“The loser has to kiss the winner.” Jehan calls from where he’s sat on the sofas around the cabinets and bookcases, and Combeferre and Joly laugh. Courfeyrac and Grantaire join in, but Enjolras leans on the table trying to ignore the colour in his cheeks like it’s not there. There’s a bang on one of the bedroom doors on the other side of the common room.

“Bahorel told us to keep it down.” Joly muttered. There was a crack as Courfeyrac took another wild shot at the cue ball and this time all he did was send it spinning into the cushion and it stopped inches from another red ball.

“Two shots!” He yelled, and Combeferre grinned.

“I’ll say.” Combeferre leans across Joly and opens the smallest of the shelves on the large bookcase, pulling out a bottle of vodka from behind what looks like old text books. He passes it to Joly over Jehan’s head and Joly has brought a few glasses over from the kitchenette and put them on the coffee table. Combeferre pours and they might not be shot glasses but Combeferre knows how much goes into a shot. Joly passes it round, making sure the alcohol stays out of Jehan’s reach. They’re not stupid enough to give alcohol to a fifteen year old who sleeps in the room next to the dorm mistress. 

“Enjolras?” Joly offers him a glass but he shakes his head.

“I don’t drink.” Grantaire laughs, and Enjolras can feel more heat in his cheeks. It’s bad enough that he doesn’t like Grantaire, worse that Grantaire mocks him. He watches as Grantaire downs his glass in one, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Courfeyrac screws his face up and gags but he still manages to down his vodka in one. Joly gags three times before he’s finished his drink and Combeferre watches with an amused smile licking at the corners of his mouth. 

Grantaire takes his next shot, and he pots his first red ball and then his second and his third. He makes it look so easy, as he dances round the table and pots ball after ball. He runs out of luck, the fourth ball hits the cushion in front of the pocket and bounces into a yellow ball. It sets up the shot Enjolras needs and he reaches right across the table and can’t help but smile as the cue ball hits his target and the yellow ball rolls effortlessly into the pocket. He pots his next one, but his hand slips and he loses his balance point. The cue hits the cue ball off target, sending it spinning into a yellow ball that moves only an inch forward, but it’s enough that no more shots are handed out. Courfeyrac sends the cue ball into the air, and it bounces over the edge of the table and smacks into the wooden floor. Enjolras can’t help but laugh when he hears the thump on the door from Bahorel and the screech from Matron to keep it down, and Courfeyrac is scrambling on his hands and knees reaching under sofas and bookcases to try and retrieve it.  
Enjolras stops laughing when he realised they’re looking at him, and Courfeyrac has the cue ball in his hand like a victory trophy. 

“So he can laugh.” Grantaire’s snorts, his chest moving silently as he laughs to himself. Courfeyrac puts the cue ball back onto the baulk line and waits for Grantaire to take his turn. Enjolras turns away, chalking up the tip of his cue so he no longer has to watch Grantaire as he spreads himself over the table. There’s a line between one of the red balls and the pocket but he misses it, instead sending the white ball into the pocket on the other side of the table. 

Joly yells “Two shots!” and drinks are passed around. Combeferre is more generous this time, filling the glasses instead of pouring out a shot measure. He screws the cap onto the bottle and Jehan reaches for it as Combeferre drinks. Courfeyrac takes the bottle from him, unscrewing it and drinking it straight. Joly laughs as Courfeyrac screws up his face. He’s such a lightweight and he’s already starting to sway on his feet.

Enjolras sighs and sets the ball back to the baulk line, he pots two more yellow balls and ends up sitting on the table so he can pot his third. He licks his lip in concentration, and his phone buzzes in his pocked. He’s about to take his shot and he rolls his eyes, it’s his mother and she’s waiting and she won’t wait much longer for him. He hands his cue to Jehan who takes over, and Enjolras leaves with a quick ‘bye’, bolting down the stairs as fast as he can. He loses his footing twice, slips once and catches the back of his calf on the steps. His mother’s waiting with the door open and he pushes his hands into the pocket of his blazer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess I haven't read the brick so this is all probably OOC and terrible and meh. I've been going by what I know from the musical and my own research so I apologise again and again and again.
> 
> I hate introductions because I find them so awkward but this is all this is, an introduction and I hope to be building on this later.
> 
> I like to write ahead so that's what I'll be doing, when I have the first few sections I'll be trying to post twice a week and hopefully not play catch up to myself.
> 
> This is a boarding school AU and my new school is a boarding school. I don't have much boarding experience, but from what I saw/know this is quite a common set up. I'm using my knowledge of the simpler Northern Irish education system as the English system is long and confusing and my experience of the independent school system. For our setting, imagine Eton or Harrow but smaller and not as elite.  
> I'm using UK laws even though there is no 'setting' for this fanwork. They're the laws I know which makes it easier for me. Most of the characters are in Upper Sixth which is the equivalent of Senior year. Marius and Courfeyrac are both in Lower Sixth, which is the equivalent of Junior year while Enjolras is 5th form so therefore a Sophomore and Jehan is the baby in 4th form and therefore a Freshman. Grantaire is the oldest in Upper Sixth, with the exception of Bosuette who's resiting ~~and can't seem to stay out of trouble, even when he does nothing wrong~~.
> 
> I have changed the ages around for several different reasons which will come to light later, although I have tried to stick mostly to canon but again, I haven't got great knowledge of canon and I'm relying on my own research and what I know from the film.
> 
> Also, pool terms. I tried my best to keep it simple because I have no idea what you call half the things either, but the fact the baulk line is in the D nearly made me cackle with laughter and a lot of D related jokes were omitted in the fact they were far too cheesy.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I'm also relying on 5 years of bad French teachers so please bear with me when it comes to French grammar and I get it all wrong. I can speak it and listen to it but cannot write it~~
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.


	2. One - Chaleur

Enjolras thinks too much, he thinks of red and black and the colours in between. He’s no artist, no poet. His words on paper are poor and worthless and it’s only when he speaks, when he can breathe life into each syllable and people turn to him and listen that he feels like he has something he can share with the world. He wants equality, he wants freedom and he knows that great people achieve great things and one day he could be great. He thinks of these things, of the leader he could be, the leader he _will_ be. He thinks of dark curls and smirks that make him ball his hands into fists and the bruises on his palms from his nails and how his heart maybe does sink a little when he can’t see the grey beanie hat or the green cardigan when he speaks. He thinks too much. He thinks too much and ends up putting big black lines through words, crossing out a _vert_ where he meant to write a _vélo_ and it just so happened he could see flashes of a bottle green in his head. 

He feels sick as he puts another line through another word and he’s never made this many mistakes. He’s easily distracted and his thoughts run wild but never like _this_. He puts his pen down, his heart pounding in his ears. He’s warm and his white shirt is starting to stick to him like another layer of skin. He folds his arms on the desk, his head resting on the cool surface. He’s longing for the bell to ring and the seconds seem to drag by. It rings loud into the afternoon and Enjolras wipes the sweat from his brow on his blazer, his legs like treacle as he tries to make it to the door. He loosens his collar once he’s outside the room, it’s sweltering and he’s starting to feel light headed. He’s got half an hour to kill before his mother is even close to arriving and so he decides to head up to the boarding house. There’s no breeze in the courtyard and the heat is driving him insane, he wonders if Feuilly or Bahorel would lend him a clean shirt just for the ride home. He’s half way across the yard when Courfeyrac calls his name loudly from the shade of the entrance to the _de Saint-Phalle_ Building. 

“Enjolras, wait a second.” Courfeyrac runs to catch up with him, his dark curls bouncing. Courfeyrac hasn’t changed yet and there’s red and blue paint on his shirt so Enjolras guesses he’s come straight from his art class. “I spoke to Marius today.” He pants, he’s not much of a sportsman and he’d be the first to admit it. “He says he’s fine to do the debate for us.” Courfeyrac smiles and Enjolras returns it.

“I’ll go and tell Combeferre before my Mam’s here then.” 

“Let me join you, my head’s pounding and I’d do anything to get out of this heat.” Courfeyrac squints and Enjolras smirks when he sees his eyes are still red. “Don’t laugh, I’m never drinking with Grantaire and Combeferre again.” 

“You’re too young to drink any way.” Enjolras corrects him as the ground in front of him wavers with the heat rising from the tarmac. 

“I didn’t have much.” Courfeyrac shrugged, tilting his head back to glare up at the sun. He stood transfixed at the bottom of the red brick stairs, squinting. “D’you think I’d tan if I sat in the orchard?”

“You’ll burn Courf, just like last year.” Enjolras said sniggered, nudging him with his elbow

“I won’t have a tanned strip on my arse if I burn like last year.” Enjolras raised his middle finger, biting his lip. He felt the cold air hit him as he entered the boarding house, unable to stop himself from sighing. The tiled marble floors didn’t radiate heat like the tarmac in the courtyard, and he made his way up the wooden staircase, nodding at Matron as she passed him. The climb up the staircase seemed to take longer than normal today, the higher Enjolras went the warmer it seemed to get. The wooden beams creaked under his feet and by the time he was at the landing with the wooden door he was sweating as much as he had been when he was outside in the heat. Enjolras didn’t bother to knock before going into the common room, and Feuilly was sat sipping a glass of water whilst bent over the coffee table, his pages of homework spread out. 

“Combeferre here?” He asked, and Feuilly shook his head.

“He’s in his room.” Feuilly didn’t look up from his work, and Enjolras straightened out his blazer, loosening his tie from his collar. “He might be getting changed, he said he was going to the pool.”

Enjolras made sure to knock before he went into his dorm, not that it mattered. He’d known Combeferre long enough that he liked to think he’d seen everything. 

“Combeferre, you in there?” He called through the door. There was the sound of rummaging, then a bang.

“Yeah come in we’re good.” Enjolras turned the handle, opening the door only to come nearly face to face with a semi-naked Grantaire. 

“I, uh, Combeferre?” He stammered the words out, tongue tripping. He was glad that for once it wasn’t him that went red, and Grantaire’s cheeks were tinged a pink. Combeferre was on Bossuet’s bed, lying on his belly and sorting through Bossuet’s modest collection of CD’s. “I, um. Courfeyrac said that, um.” Enjolras was flustered, and he looked at his feet. Grantaire was skulking in the corner, and Combeferre cackled, his laughter bouncing off the walls of the dorm.

"I never thought I’d see you lost for words.” 

“Courf said he spoke to Marius and he said he’d do the debate.” Enjolras shut his eyes as he said it, doing his best not to trip over his words, or worse, look at Grantaire. 

“Where is Courfeyrac?” Combeferre raised an eyebrow, rolling onto his back so his head was hanging upside down from the side of the bed.

“Debating whether it’d be worth sunbathing in the orchard, last time I saw him.” 

“He’ll burn like last year.” 

“That’s what I told him.” Enjolras smoothed down a corner of Bossuet’s duvet, sitting next to Combeferre.

“Waiting on your mother still?”

“She said she’ll text me when she’s here.” Enjolras sighed, and Combeferre rolled back onto his stomach, his hair falling wildly around his face.

“I don’t see why she doesn’t just make you board.” Combeferre drew out the syllables on the last word, and Enjolras shrugged.

“I guess she wants me close to home, especially after what happened last time.” 

“Expelled for, what was it again?” Combeferre laughed and Enjolras shook his head, glancing over to Grantaire who’d sat himself on Combeferre’s unmade bed sheets.

“You were expelled from your last school?” Grantaire tipped his head back, and Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“It’s none of your business.” He was trying to sound cold, hoping it would be dropped but Grantaire didn’t know when to stop, and that itch that always seemed to come over Enjolras when Grantaire started talking was beginning to run across his skin.

“Oh? Was it that bad?” Grantaire was genuinely interested, but Enjolras just narrowed his eyes.

“It was personal.” He growled, loud enough Grantaire could hear him. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he’d never been happier to receive a text in his life. When he looked at the screen it was only a text from his service provider, but it was enough he could make his escape before Grantaire probed further. “That’s my Mam, I have to go.” 

“Enjolras,” Combeferre called after him as he scrambled up from the bed, bolting to the door and across the common room. He didn’t say goodbye to Feuilly who was still working on the same piece of paper on the coffee table. His mind whirred and blurred and he ended up perched on the wall of the courtyard, facing the car park. His mother wasn’t there, and he’d been waiting for half an hour, constantly checking his phone.

“That wasn’t your mother.” He jumped, spinning round to see who’d spoken.

“Combeferre, I didn’t see you.” Enjolras patted the wall next to him, and Combeferre sat.

“What’s bothering you?” Combeferre fished in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, taking two out when he found them. He tucked one behind his ear, the other between his lips as he fumbled for a lighter. “Light me up?” He mumbled, his thumbs unable to flick the lighter to life. Enjolras took it from him, a tiny flame bursting out on his first try.

“There’s nothing wrong.” Enjolras sighed louder than he’d meant to, handing back the light and watching as Combeferre blew out a trail of smoke. He held the cigarette out to him, and Enjolras took a drag.

“I know you haven’t smoked in three months, and now you are. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m fine, I swear. It’s just the heat, it’s so warm for October.” Enjolras could feel the nicotine rush running through his body, something he’d missed. He saw greens and blues and dark curls and he smiled, blowing the smoke out through his mouth. 

“I’ve known you for twelve years, it’s weak of you to pull the imaginary text card. Is it something with the group?” Combeferre took another drag, holding his smoke out to Enjolras but he shook his head.

“It’s not the group, the group’s great. The group’s fine.”

“If you need a week off, E, I can always run it with Courf.” 

“I don’t need a week off, I swear there’s nothing wrong with the group.” Combeferre was tapping his feet on the ground.

“Enjolras, talk to me. I thought we were friends.” He doesn’t mean to sound annoyed, but he does. He takes another drag. Enjolras looks at the ground, fingers pulling at the moss on the wall. “Was it Grantaire? You’ve seen enough of us naked by now to know it’s not a big deal.” 

Combeferre misses the way Enjolras’ cheeks are tinted pink at the mention of his name, and how he purposefully can’t meet his gaze. Enjolras can’t tell Combeferre that it’s Grantaire, and his stupid lazy smirks and his annoying, irritating way of talking that gets under his skin. Enjolras can’t tell him about how he’s found Grantaire’s laughter sends vibrations up his spine and his curls leave him wanting to run his hands through them. Enjolras can’t tell Combeferre that he’s so undecided about how to feel about Grantaire that it’s driving him insane, that every time he sees his stupid, handsome face he feels such repulsion yet his thoughts seem to revolve around him. Instead, he swallows, he tries his hardest to remove all emotion from his face.

“Yes, it’s Grantaire. If you two are having a thing, you just need to say so.” He tries his best not to let his voice rise, to keep it even and hope Combeferre notice. Enjolras knows his cheeks are tinted pink, but Combeferre tips his head back and cackles so hard he nearly falls off the wall.

“Me and, and Grantaire?” He bites his lip, and Enjolras nods.

“He was semi-naked in your room, it’s totally okay if you guys are, uhm.” Combeferre laughs harder, and Enjolras reaches a hand out to steady him. He’s alarmed, Combeferre’s laughing and jerking around so erratically that he’s worried he’ll fall off the wall and crack his skull open. Enjolras can feel his cheeks heating up, the blood rushing to them and sending them bright pink. He shoved his hands into his pockets, ducking his head down and looking awkwardly at his feet.

“Besides, Grantaire isn’t my type. Joly, on the other hand.” Combeferre nudged him, their elbows colliding and Enjolras returned his smile, the corner of his mouth turning up into his little half smile that didn’t quite spread to his eyes.

“Joly’s cute.” He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. 

“Which one do you want then?” 

“I, I’m not-“ Enjolras stuttered, swallowed, opening his mouth and shutting it again. “I, uhm.”

“You’re so funny when you’re flustered.” Combeferre grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette. 

“Stamp it out, my Mam’s on her way.” Enjolras raised his foot, tapping just below his knee.

“How do you know?” 

“I can see her at the bottom of the road.” Combeferre nodded, dropping his cigarette and stamping his foot down, grinding it into the cement paving. 

“She’s always so late getting you.”

“It’s only because Pa’s in Dubai. He comes home next week.” Enjolras sighed, reaching up and taking the cigarette from behind Combeferre’s ear. His hand drifted across his cheek, as he took the cigarette in his own fingers. “For later.” He grinned, sliding the smoke into his pocket and waving as his mother drove in, opening the door for him.  
His mother didn’t smile at him, instead she sniffed and her mouth formed into a tight frown as soon as the door was shut.

“Have you been smoking?” She asked, he heard her take another sniff, rolling his eyes.

“Of course not Mam.” Enjolras gripped onto the corners of his seat, swaying with the movement. He's a bad liar.

“Don’t lie to me, Enjolras. I can smell the smoke on you.” 

“It must have been from Combeferre.” Enjolras heard his mother sigh, muttering about how they let anyone into that school.

“How was your day?” 

“It was fine Mam.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” She sniffed again through her nose, loudly enough that Enjolras could hear her disapproval. “Put your window down, it’ll get rid of that smell. If Combeferre’s going to smoke you would think he’d at least smoke quality fags.” Enjolras just sighed, he never felt the need to complain about the tobacco that Combeferre and Courfeyrac smoked. It was early evening, the reds and oranges and golds had all started running together as they turned blue to peachy-pink. There was an evening breeze now, and it was comforting as it blew through the window. Enjolras had spent his whole day in stuffy rooms in a woollen blazer, anything cooling was welcoming and refreshing. If he had the right car for it, he’d be standing on the back of his car and screaming, the wind whipping his face and his golden curls as he screamed, losing the sound of his voice over the wind that threw it back in his face and the roar of the engine.

“Enjolras, did you hear me?” There was a tap on his knee, and he glanced over at his mother, who sniffed again. This time she wrinkled her nose up, she had creases down her nose from all the times she screwed up her nose, and it was something no ridiculous amount of make-up could fix. 

“No, I’m sorry Mam. What were you saying?” 

“I said you’ll need to find your own way home tomorrow, I’m working out of town.” Enjolras didn’t bother to nod his head, she paid no attention to him.

His mother always struck him as the sort of woman who only had a child because it was the thing expected of her, he’d spent as long as he could remember with some sort of nanny or au pair, or at boarding schools and afterschool clubs. He had few memories of her taking him on holiday with his father, but they were so few and far between he wasn’t sure if they were real or not. She’d only been interested in him when he was a baby and she could hold him in her arms and he loved her unconditionally. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her now, but it was different. He’d long learnt to survive without his mother, due to her work commitments and it was the absence of his father that was showing in the tense lines of her forehead and her pout. Enjolras had more memories of his father, the man who used to drive him to his tennis practice and tried to teach him how to swim, the man who had laughter lines etched into his face and spent more time working away from the house he paid for than living in it. 

He honestly missed his father’s smile and his laughter, whenever he did see him there was less and less of it in his eyes. How he looked at his son had changed, they’d grown apart and it hurt him. It hurt Enjolras that he no longer had a home, he just shared a house with two people and they called themselves a family. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had smiled at him the way he had when he was younger, now he just seemed frustrated and tired all the time. He frowned and sighed and complained about one thing or another, that Enjolras wasn't getting the marks that reflected his ability, that Enjolras didn’t study enough, that Enjolras needed to get out there and meet more people, that Enjolras spent too much time with his friends. It was a constant battle he could never win, torn between the expectations of one parent and the disapproval of the other and found himself not liking either very much. 

He spent what was left on his evening bent over books in fading light. His thoughts drifted, he scribbled over margins and drew figures between paragraphs. His hand writing was so sloppy, the neat loops getting bigger and bigger and the even letters began to bounce around the lines of his page. He stopped making sense past midnight, his words running into each other and sentences missing letters. It was one in the morning before he dragged his head from the wood of his desk and fell into bed, only for his mother to wake him up five hours later. 

Mornings weren't his best time, his chronic lack of sleep left dark smudges under his eyes and gave him headaches that made him sick. His mother scowled at him, told him he should be in bed earlier, told him he shouldn’t spend so long drawing and scrawling in his books and over his homework. He was still half asleep when he was left at the school gates, half his shirt untucked and his tie crooked in his collar. It was always so early when he arrived, sometimes not even the younger boarders were awake. It was such a mild morning for October, the heat from the day before had left behind a warm morning that felt like spring. Enjolras didn’t think to fix his tie or his shirt, dragging his feet instead towards the gardens where he knew he could sit without anyone noticing him and finish the chemistry homework he didn’t quite get finished. His feet dragged along the ground, so reluctant to move along the paths. He tried his best not to collapse onto the benches, the trees in the orchard behind him were rich in ripe fruit and the morning birds were chirping. He could see someone amongst the trees, but their face was hidden from him. Shaking it off as probably the groundsman, because students really weren’t meant to be in the orchard, he opened his bag and pulled out the bright blue chemisty folder and flipped to the sheet he’d been given for homework. He was so lost, just as he’d been lost at elven forty five pm the night before. He didn’t care for calculations and the mole or chemistry itself, the only reason he was sitting chemistry was because it was another result to get him through to next year. He was sucking on his pen, pulling faces at the piece of paper in front of him while his mind went blank and he was trying his hardest not to just block in a large ‘fuck you’ on the answering space. A shadow fell over his file, and he looked up only to see Grantaire. 

“Morning.” Grantaire smiled, his mouth curling up on the left side and he was far too bright and happy for this early in the morning.

“Hi.” Enjolras went back to sucking his pen, looking straight back down at his work.

“Stuck?” Grantaire seemed to sit down and clear his bag from the bench before he had a chance to tell him to go away, and he dumped his bag down on the floor, not even caring that it was _real Italian leather_ (not that Enjolras cared) that he’d been dangerously close to just dropping in the mud.

“I want to be left alone.” Enjolras muttered, but Grantaire either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him, his sunny disposition startling.

“Here, I’ll help you.” Grantaire leant over and he was ridiculously close, Enjolras could feel his shoulder pressing tight against his, and the smell of his soap mixed with the sweet smell of weed and tobacco. He was could feel the warmth from his body and ducked away from him, as far as he could into the end of the bench. “You mind if I have a fag? Swear you won’t tell?” Grantaire looked up at him with his big blue eyes, and Enjolras realised he’d never noticed how blue they really were.

“I won’t tell if you share.” Grantaire smirked again, taking out a cigarette from the pocket of his hoodie (of course he didn’t wear the regulation blazers or even try to stay within the uniform rules and it usually was another excuse for Enjolras to fuel his annoyance), and balanced it between his lips. Enjolras found himself watching with such an intensity as Grantaire cradled his lighter against the breeze, lighting up and drawing in slowly, passing his smoke to Enjolras who watched the way he exhaled, his smoke blowing out of his mouth so delicately, not like the way Combeferre and Courfeyrac did it when their smoke just went everywhere, not even like Joly who could make smoke rings, as he’d shown them that time he ‘borrowed’ his father’s pipe. Grantaire had seen he’d been watching, and he smiled. 

“Let me have a look at your chemistry, I’m not great at it but I managed to get through AS level last year.” Enjolras didn’t realise how soft-spoken Grantaire could be, he always knew him for sitting there smirking at the back of a room and occasionally shouting something contradicting and controversial in the hope it would irritate him.  
Enjolras let his books lie open in his lap, as he inhaled. He tipped his head back and smiled when he felt the calmed rush that he got from the nicotine, pursing his lips and breathing out and keeping his eyes shut. Grantaire watched him, the profile of his face sharp against the red skies of the dawn and thought he was beautiful, his marble skin and golden curls and the way his features were so delicate and put together. He wondered if he knew how beautiful he was, when he wasn’t frowning or pouting and when he didn’t have everything tucked and smoothed round and when he looked so in control of himself. Grantaire could remember his surprise the first time he heard him laugh, if he could call it a laugh and not a giggle. 

“The third one, it’s three-quarters of a mole.” Grantaire broke his stare to peer at the file in front of him, and it was so _easy_. 

“How did you get that?” Enjolras laughed, holding his hand out to give him back his cigratte. They’re so close right now, and Grantaire can feel his body heat where their shoulders are pressed together. He doesn’t mean to slide his knee into Enjolras’ but he does and it’s that one look that makes him cup his cheek and pull him close and kiss him. His lips are so soft and there’s a second where Enjolras is surprised, and then he kisses him back. Grantaire’s hand slides into the hair at the back of his neck and he just can’t help himself, he’s been head over heels for this boy for nearly a year. Enjolras feels his stomach twist and tighten and relax when he feels Grantaire’s hand in his hair because it just feels right. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands because he’s never been kissed like this, and he has been kissed , just not with this passion and desire and confusion in his heart. Grantaire has to break them apart for air because he’s still not sure that that just happened, and Enjolras misses his lips before he realises they’re gone. It takes him a second and then he springs up like someone’s dropped hot coffee on his lap. His folder falls into the mud and he doesn’t bother to pick it up.

“Enjolras.” There’s a quiet pleading in Grantaire’s eyes and Enjolras shakes his head, his curls bounce and he bites his lip, he’s so confused. His heart and his brain both tell him to keep kissing him but he _just can’t_ because this is Grantaire and he’s meant to hate Grantaire.

“I can’t Grantaire, I’m not, I. No.” His heart is pounding and his eyes are wide, he scrabbles on the floor for his chemistry folder, hugging it to his chest and tossing his bag onto his back, trying his best not to run as he backs away. He wipes at his mouth furiously with his sleeve, the memory of Grantaire’s lips like a stain he can’t get rid of. He doesn’t know where he’s going, it’s still early but he looks a mess. He’s unusually dishevelled and there’s a mud stain on his red regulation blazer from where he’s hugging his chemistry folder to his chest and he wants to cry because he just doesn’t know what to do anymore. He wants to go home but he doesn’t know how he’ll get there, he needs someone to tell him it’s alright and it’s okay to be confused and not know who he’s meant to love and who he’s meant to hate but he won’t get that from his mother. He feels like he’s run round in circles and he just wants someone he can talk to, which is why he ends up knocking on Combeferre’s door even with Bahorel’s warning that both he and Bossuet are fast asleep and don’t like being disturbed, because this is urgent and Combeferre will know what to do because Combeferre knows everything, when they were younger he knew everything so he _must_ know what to do now. There’s no answer on his bedroom door and Enjolras lets out a sob, he can’t help it. He’s already woken up half of the dorm with his banging and it takes Bahorel and Joly to sit him down on one of the sofa’s with a mug of coffee to calm him down from near hysterics, but he shakes his head and refuses to talk because he can’t talk to them, he can’t even talk to Courfeyrac who offered to put a shot in his coffee and hugged him as hard as he can because he just wants Combeferre right now.

He knows he’s overreacting, but he can’t help it. He never wanted this to happen and his whole world has suddenly been turned upside down. He’d been so sure in who he was and now he wasn’t, and he feels like there’s something wrong with him because he _enjoyed_ kissing Grantaire, and he hates Grantaire with all his heart, or he thought he did. He sips his coffee while Feuilly and Bahorel talk in hushed voices about what could have possibly happened that made him come running for Combeferre while Feuilly tries to call Combeferre even though he’s only in a room down the hall and Courfeyrac comforts him. It’s taken them most of the morning and Courfeyrac’s already threatened to rip the balls of the person or thing that got him so worked up and it made him laugh. Courfeyrac is so fiercely protective of his friends that it’s got him into serious trouble on several occasions, and it’s as Enjolras finally starts to sip at his coffee with steady hands that the bell for first period rings, and his heart sinks just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw babies
> 
> I think you can tell the exact moment I really got into writing as soon as Enjolras has to suffer but hey, that's me.
> 
> I hoping to have chapter two up by Thursday, and as I've said previously, I have no beta (I am looking) and my grammar in English and French is terrible.
> 
> I apologise for OOC-crappyness because I haven't read The Brick yet and am going by my own research and what I know from the film/musical. Also I'm trying to make them read like privately educated 14-19 year olds (or at least I'm trying?) from my own experiences, as I am meant to be starting at the leading (and only) independant boarding school in Northern Ireland. It's actually pretty tiny and there are more day pupils than borders. The older ones get up to all sorts of crazy things too, which I learnt when I spent the day there. Proper private schools are probably a lot more different.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~also can you tell I love Courfeyrac?~~
> 
>  
> 
> I'm trying my best to write this as well as I can but I've been sick over the weekend and it's impacted on quite a lot of this first chapter, unfortunately. I'm hoping I don't end up with a chest infection and had something like the flu over the weekend which is why there was a slight delay, next update hopefully Thursday, but it might be as late as Friday or Saturday as I'm working this week.


	3. Two - Loyauté

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry, about your father, R.”   
> “I’m used to it, E.”

Courfeyrac stays with him, not caring if he got another black mark or detention for skipping his classes, Enjolras needed him now and that’s what mattered to him most. Courfeyrac had slipped his blazer off his shoulders gently, giving him one of his scarlet hoodies and refilling his coffee mug with black coffee. It tasted so bitter and Enjolras didn’t understand how Courfeyrac could drink it so dark, but it was warm and it gave him something to hold so his hands didn’t shake so violently.

“You don’t have to do this Courf.” Enjolras muttered, his hands wrapped so tightly around the mug. The blind panic he’d felt was starting to calm down, he no longer had that empty feeling in his stomach that left him ready to throw up non-existent butterflies.

“You’d do the same for me.” Courfeyrac was always the one who stayed, Enjolras had refused to keep anyone from his classes, it had been Courf’s insistence that he’d already got black marks and that skipping classes wasn’t going to affect his marks (because they weren’t high anyway) and Enjolras finds it oddly reassuring that in his moment of need so many people are there offering what they can to help. “How are you feeling?”

Enjolras has much still to tell Courfeyrac, the brief moment he saw Combeferre was filled with Courfeyrac’s stony stare and he’d hugged Enjolras so tight and told him he’d find him at break and make sure he was okay, but he couldn’t afford to miss his history class and they both knew it. Enjolras had insisted he went, whilst Courfeyrac refused to leave.

“I could do with a smoke.” Enjolras laughed, and for one of the first times ever he saw a small frown on playing Courfeyrac’s mouth.

“You quit smoking last year though, E.”

“I’m a casual smoker. I was smoking with Grantaire and I didn’t mean to, I just.” He sighed, and Courfeyrac sat next to him, the cushion dipping with his wait as he wrapped his arm around his shoulder, kissing the top of his head.

“I get it, you’re confused. It happens to everyone.” Enjolras knows that Courfeyrac knows what he’s talking about, he can remember the breakdown he had last year and the summer where he slept with as many girls and boys as he could and had ended up in hospital with ligature marks around his neck and red lines through his wrist. Enjolras can remember when Combeferre had told him what had happened, and he knew that Courfeyrac knew more than anyone else what it was like when your head spun and you didn’t know what you were thinking and what you really thought. 

“It’s not just confusion, I hate Grantaire. I mean, I’m meant to hate him. I hate the things he does and the way he does them but I just, I can’t. And I’m not like that, I’m not into Grantaire at all, Grantaire isn’t my type.” Enjolras sipped his coffee, and Courfeyrac laughed.

“Enjolras, it’s okay to not be sure what you want. It’s fine to want everything and everyone and still not be sure. It’s fine to only want one person,” Enjolras bit his lip, and Courfeyrac leant back on the sofa, his arm loosely hung over the back cushion, “I’m not trying to dismiss what you’re going through. Please, don’t do anything stupid.” Courfeyrac rarely sounds so serious, Enjolras rested his head onto his shoulder.

“I enjoyed it, he’s an amazing kisser. He tastes of mint and tobacco and I wish this was anyone but Grantaire, if it had been Feuilly or Joly or even Jehan it would be better than this. I can’t stand Grantaire, I can’t stand his smirks and how he’s so, so, he’s just Grantaire.” Enjolras can’t think of his word, because there’s no way he can really pinpoint how Grantaire irritates him other than just being irritating. He can’t pinpoint why that he gets the ache in his heart when he thinks of Grantaire and he’s greeted with the memories of lips on his and mint and tobacco rolled into one. Coufeyrac laughs softly, and he can’t help it, he really can’t. Enjolras is so oblivious to his own feelings, to what everyone else has seen for months that it makes him laugh so damn hard while Enjolras stares at him with those big puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sorry, I really am. It sounds like someone has a crush.” Courfeyrac was trying his best to stop himself laughing, fighting with the corners of his mouth and he slipped a hand over his mouth to try and muffle the sound.

“I _don’t_ Courf.” But even in his denial Enjolras can feel the lie burning in his throat, the way his cheeks blush pink and he has to try and not let his voice break into a nervous giggle because he’s such a bad liar and he always ends up giggling. Courfeyrac just gives him that glance and bites back the grin that’s slowly escaping him. “Courfeyac, your face says what you won’t!” Enjolras laughs, and Courfeyrac’s smile widens. Every time they look at each other they dissolve into this new fit of giggles and Courfeyrac has tears in his eyes and his belly hurts. They needed this, Enjolras needed to laugh and laugh without anyone disrupting him and his chest rises and falls dramatically as he tries his hardest to stop laughing.

“Come out with us tonight.” Courfeyrac sounds so mellow, the way you always do when you’re about to start laughing again after just stopping. Enjolras knows if he looks at him he’ll laugh again and so he fixes his gaze on his hands and shrugs.

“Where are you going? I thought you were a full time boarder.” 

“I am.” Courfeyrac lets out a small giggle and it sounds like he’s popped a bubble or something because it’s such a small giggle it was barely there. He’s breathing deeply to try and calm down. “There’s a gig tonight in town, I’ve a spare ticket, if you want to go. It’s not like a date, I didn’t mean it to sound that way. There’s a group of us going.”

“Who are you seeing? Who exactly is going?” Enjolras swallowed, hoping that Courfeyrac wouldn’t say Grantaire because he could really do with a change of scene and his mother wasn’t there to tell him no, he had to work tonight.

“It’s some weird alternative rock band that Jehan likes, you know the sort of stuff he’s in to. It’s an over 18’s gig so I had to get him ID, but Bahorel, Feuilly and Joly are all going. Grantaire said he might be, but we don’t have to talk to him. Please come with me, it’s the first time Matron’s let me leave campus for more than an hour since last year and the incident. Besides, Jehan’s music is weird as fuck and I could do with good company.” 

Enjolras didn’t meant to snort, but the incident that happened last year was enough to make him. Courfeyrac glanced at him in confusion, and Enjolras erupted into another fit of giggles and he couldn’t help himself. His stomach hurt and he was nearly doubled over, his lungs screaming for air.

“The incident, jesus Courfeyrac I’ve never laughed so hard.” Courfeyrac scowled, he didn’t find the incident half as amusing as his friends but it had gone down in history as one of the best nights of their lives even it if was at Courfeyrac’s expense. 

“I lost all my privileges, it wasn’t funny. Anyway, does that mean you’ll go?”

“Yeah, I will Courf,” Enjolras gave him that small smile, and Courfeyrac returned it, “just to spare you Jehan’s awful music. Will I need ID?”

“You’ll pass for 18.” Courfeyrac took Enjolras’s chin in his hand, tipping his head from one side to the other and narrowing his eyes. “Dress like you’re not trying, please.”   
There was the sound of the bell or break, and Courfeyrac sighed loudly. He threw himself back into the sofa cushions, and there was a thumping and a thud from the stairs

“What?” Enjolras asked, his hand tapping Courfeyrac’s thigh and Courfeyrac groaned, his hands coming up to his face.

“I forgot to mark in sick this morning, I had until break to do it. I’ve missed the first three periods this morning.”

“And if Matron comes in, you’re not meant to be up here.” The door shut quietly, and Enjolras felt his heart leap in his chest.

“Grantaire.” He breathed his words out, and Courfeyrac’s hand was there on his shoulder to steady him as he looked at Grantaire with a glare that could curdle milk.

“What are you doing here?” Courfeyrac growled and Enjolras even found it unsettling, so unlike the Courf he knew with his light heart and sunny nature and ability to make light of even the worst circumstances. 

“My ma’s asked me not to come home this weekend, I was dropping my bag back into my room.” Grantaire shrugged, and Enjolras couldn’t look at him. He was struggling to breathe again, even with Courfeyrac’s hand slipping to his back. His chest was tight and he choked as he stared at his hands. Grantaire pretended not to notice, tried to look disinterested.

“Why doesn’t your mother want you at home?” Courfeyrac cocked his head, pulling Enjolras closer to him. His eyes didn’t leave Grantaire’s and Grantaire shrugged again.

“My old man’s back in town.” 

“Are you still game for tonight?” 

“I never said I was definitely going, but yeah, I should be.” Grantaire was playing with the clasp on his bag, his fingers finding something to do so he wasn’t left to look at Courfeyrac, and Enjolras. “Oh, uhm, the office wanted to see you Courf.”

“I, I’ll go then.” Enjolras stammered, half rising from his seat. He couldn’t take this, he couldn’t be sat here with Grantaire alone. He couldn’t because he didn’t know what he felt and who he was and Grantaire seemed to have taken such a huge chunk of his identity with him when he took that kiss it left him so disoriented that he wasn’t sure if his head knew the difference between love and hate anymore. Courfeyrac grabbed his arm and pulled him back down into his seat, Enjolras rubbing his arm because Courfeyrac had some grip on him.

“You were waiting for Combeferre, remember?” Courfeyrac hissed, standing up and muttering something to Grantaire. On his way out, he paused at the door. His hand lingered on the doorframe and he whistled “I’ll be back in a minute, I promise.” 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire said his name so softly, Enjolras turned his head towards him. Enjolras realised it was the first time he’d ever seen Grantaire in his school uniform, his blazer tight fitting on his shoulders and his shirt hanging loose about the waist of his trousers. 

“The red suits you.” Enjolras met his eyes, swallowing and biting down on his lip. He hated to admit it, he hated that Grantaire had this ability to silence someone as outspoken as he was. He could taste tobacco and mint and everything about Grantaire, he could feel his hand on his cheek and a shiver ran through his spine. 

“I’m sorry, Enjolras.” Grantaire looked away, dropping his head completely and scuffing his feet in the carpet. Enjolras finds it adorable, he finds humbleness adorable and his stomach twists uncomfortably. He doesn’t want this to be the end, not yet. He doesn’t want Grantaire to hang his head and go. He want’s Grantaire’s body pressed tight against his and he doesn’t want Grantaire near him. He’s so undecided and it’s tearing him apart at the seams of his own skin.

“What are you sorry for?” Enjolras doesn’t know why he’s talking still, but it just feels wrong that Grantaire apologises. It feels wrong that Grantaire is standing there awkwardly with one hand on his arm in a blazer that doesn’t fit and is fraying round the edges and Enjolras wants Grantaire to laugh or say something stupid or even start whistling out of tune in that way that winds Enjolras up to the point he ends up breaking his speeches to make him shut up. Grantaire just stands there, and Enjolras is patting the seat next to him before he realises what he’s doing.

“I just thought you, well after earlier.” Grantaire’s voice trails off, and there are more thuds on the stairs and muffled voices. “I should be going, I have to go and see my art teacher.” Grantaire gestures in the direction of the door, and Enjolras mutters a soft ‘no’ that he doesn’t hear. He’s unable to take his eyes off the space he stood in, his heart pounding whilst his stomach dances. The voices outside are louder, and Enjolras can hear Jehan and Courfeyrac and Joly, but not Combeferre and he feels his newly found confidence sink a little bit. All he wants is his friend and his protector and the one who always knows what to do when things go wrong. Combeferre who knows everything and has known everything since they were little and knew no better and always has the right answers even when Combeferre doesn’t know what he’s talking about, at all.

“Enjolras, Courf told me you were coming tonight!” Jehan launches himself at Enjolras and he’s all hair and limbs and Enjolras holds his hands out so he doesn’t clank heads with him. Courfeyrac quirks his head, giving Enjolras a questioning thumbs up and he nods. Courfeyrac smiles, and turns to head to his room. Jehan is talking a mile a minute about his band and Enjolras nods while Joly ruffles Jehan’s hair affectionately.

“Courf’s taking me.” Enjolras mutters, mostly for Joly’s benefit and Joly raises his eyebrows in surprised, humming and trying to sound like he was interested.

“It’s going to be really good fun, you’ll finally get to meet Marius.” Jehan’s smile spread to his voice, and it was so endearing. He was one of the most expressive people Enjolras knew and he sat up straighter at the mention of Marius.

“I didn’t know Marius was going too.”

“Yeah, his girlfriend Cosette, her father owns the venue or something. He’ll make sure I get in even if the ID doesn’t work.” Jehan giggles, he can’t help his giggling. He always giggles when he’s excited and he doesn’t realise he does it and it sounds so funny when he giggles because Jehan’s voice raises what sounds like two octaves and you don’t think a human male is capable of making that sort of sound, but Jehan is and it’s one of the things he loves about Jehan. 

Enjolras spends the rest of his day with them, with Jehan and his giggles and Joly who grins and jokes and was the one who handed him coffee and sat with him that morning while Courfeyrac got dressed. Joly does that, Joly cares and he listens and he’s so light hearted and good natured that it angers Enjolras to think there are people who manipulate Joly because of this. It’s Joly who seems to do the coffee runs and gives up his free period to sit with Enjolras and talk about the faults in the private school system, and then Jehan manages to work his way out of his afternoon games so he can sit with Enjolras and giggle. Enjolras gets the idea that Jehan doesn’t have many friends of his own age, the same way Enjolras doesn’t really know anyone in his year, and those he does know usually want to punch him for something he’s said or done to them at some point. Enjolras is starting to think Combeferre is avoiding him though, when the final bell goes and he ends up going for the bus home. Courfeyrac has said that he’ll be there to pick him up for seven, the gig starts at eight and they won’t have to queue because Marius is definitely getting them in, thanks to his girlfriend’s father 

It’s when he’s alone in his big house, having walked a mile in what was left of yesterday’s heat and peeling his shirt off as soon as he knows he’s home alone, that he feels like he’s loved for the first time in what could be years. Not since his father’s laughter lines turned into the marks from frowns and his mother fussed over him and hugged him and didn’t pay someone to read to him each night. He doesn’t know what it is, if it was the offer from Feuilly of coming home with him to make sure he’s okay or the way he had to continually turn down Joly for another cup of coffee because he was still buzzing from the first four or five he’d made him. He changed quickly, remember what Courfeyrac’s words about not trying too hard had stuck with him, and he ended up pulling on jeans and a grey t-shirt with some slogan on it for some big company his mother bought from. He hung his blazer on the back of his door, making sure there were no loose threads and the bands on the sleeves lay flat. It had occurred to him this would possibly be one of the few times that Bahorel and Feuilly would see him outside of his school uniform and his red blazer, and it was so strange to him because he knew each of them and their individual styles from all the times he saw them in the boarding house. His phone vibrates on his bed and it’s Courfeyrac telling him they’re ten minutes from his house. Enjolras looks himself over, deciding he needs some sort of jacket or jumper and he finds a leather jacket in his wardrobe that he knows fit him last year. It’s an expensive jacket that he’s worn twice and his mother always is telling him to wear, but as soon as he slips it over his shoulders he knows it’s not right. He must have grown since he last wore it because it’s tight across his back and the sleeves are too small. He throws it onto the bed behind him, pulling back coats and jackets and hangers when he hears the knock on his door and instead rushes. He picks up his phone into his wallet and pushes them into his pockets and grabs his maroon cardigan on the way out. 

Courfeyrac told him they were getting a taxi, instead he can see Grantaire’s old Golf that looks ready to burst. Courfeyrac is obviously in the front, riding shotgun, as it’s the only free seat. Bahorel, Joly, Feuilly and Jehan are squeezed into the back and Enjolras isn’t sure how he’ll fit. 

“It’s bigger than it looks.” Courfeyrac is meant to sound reassuring, but he doesn’t. Enjolras ends up clambering over different legs and squishing himself in between Joly and Bahorel, Jehan perching himself on his lap.

“I thought you were getting a taxi?” Enjolras cranes his neck to see past Jehan and Courfeyrac makes a face, his head turned as far back as he can get it.

“I also thought I had enough money to get a taxi there and back as well as drinks. It turns out, I do not.” Courfeyrac laughed and Enjolras shook his head. “Hey, shut up and enjoy the ride.” Enjolras raises his middle finger in Courfeyrac’s direction and Joly laughs and Jehan giggles. The windows are steaming up as Grantaire turns and takes the back roads in the hope that the police won’t stop them for having too many people in the backseat of one car. 

Grantaire’s car is so dirty compared to his mother’s Merc and his father’s Range Rover. It’s smaller and older and the seats aren’t leather. There’s a coke can and old parking tickets in the tray under the radio which still can play tapes and CD’s. There’s general crap in the backseat, old maps and brochures hang out of the back pockets of the seats and there’s something that rattles in the speakers. Grantaire’s school blazer is draped over the parcel shelf and it needs someone to take all the junk out and wash the seats down for the car to be as clean as what he’s used to, but then Enjolras remembers that not everyone can afford leather seats and the latest models of high end names. Grantaire’s driving is a lot like his fathers, too fast and maybe a little too careless.

“Who are we even seeing tonight?” Bahorel asks, prodding Enjolras with his sharp elbow as the car takes a turn into town.

“Barricades.” Jehan makes a face at Bahorel and Enjolras knows that name. He actually knows this band and it stuns him because everyone always writes Jehan’s music off as weird alternative stuff that’s depressing as hell and no one has ever heard of.

“I know that band.” Enjolras laughs and catches Grantaire glancing at him in his mirror and his cheeks go a little bit pink. “I actually know a band Jehan listens to.”

“Hey Jehan, you’ve found a new friend.” Joly calls and Jehan grins, bouncing in Enjolras’ lap and his spine hits his stomach. Jehan is so bony and Enjolras is going to be bruised before this concert’s even started.

“What’s your favourite song?” Jehan turns so he can look at Enjolras and Enjolras has to grab him to steady him on his knee because the road is in a real need of resurfacing and he doesn’t want another elbow or knee or spine in his stomach. 

“I like Revolutions, the one about the boys who fight and die for what they believe in.” Grantaire snorts loudly.

“You would like that one.” He mutters, and Enjolras narrows his eyes. He would ball his hands into fists but he’s trying to stop Jehan sliding onto his lap. 

“What are you trying to say, Grantaire?” Enjolras quirks his head so he can see over Jehan’s shoulders and look at Grantaire through the mirror. 

“I’m not trying to say anything, Enjolras. I’m just not surprised you like the song about politics.” 

“Grantaire, that’s enough.” Courfeyrac spoke up, putting his hand on Grantaire’s thigh. The whole car was silent, Jehan bouncing on Enjolras’ knee as they tore down the road. It stayed like that, an uneasy tense silence where Enjolras stared straight ahead and Joly and Bahorel and Feuilly all exchanged confused looks with Jehan and Courfeyrac say there with a knowing half-grin on his face, the left corner of his mouth turned up into a smile as his eyes darted back and forth between Grantaire’s looks in the mirror and Enjolras’ and his stony expression. Enjolras has never been more relieved when they were parked, he’d had enough of a cramped car with Jehan and his hair poking a new part of him every time there was a bump or dip in the road and being crushed between two of his friends so tightly he thought he might actually lose movement. Courfeyrac had been the first out, and he was talking to some tall red head while Enjolras stretched himself out. 

“Enjolras stop preening and get out.” Feuilly raised an eyebrow, holding the door open for him. Enjolras adjusted his cardigan.

“Come and meet Marius, E.” He was only just out when Courfeyrac whipped him away again, to the red head he’d been talking too. Enjolras recognised him straight away, and he guessed this was Marius. He’d seen Marius, he was another day pupil and he got the same bus that Enjolras used to get. It was hard not to see Marius, with his auburn hair and his height. He had his arm round a girl who Enjolras assumed was his girlfriend. “Marius, this is Enjolras. Enjolras this is Marius.”  
Marius extended his hand to shake, and Enjolras shook it. It felt so formal, when they both were wearing jeans and a t-shirt and standing outside of a building with a queue of kids waiting to see a band. He had a firm grip and a pleasant smile and Enjolras had always been taught a strong handshake was a sign of a pedigree and a disciplinarian for a father. Looking at Marius, it didn’t surprise him.

“It’s a pleasure.” Marius was well spoken and Enjolras nodded his head. 

“Same to you.” Enjolras knew his responses, his mother had spent enough time drilling him when he was younger and she had guests and executives and family friends visiting them. He only just remembered he didn’t need to tag a ‘sir’ onto the end when he spoke to his peers. 

“This is my girlfriend, Cosette.” The girl next to him nodded, and Enjolras smiled. She was beautiful, blonde and girly with hair that flowed round her shoulders. She looked at Marius with such fondness, her hand resting in the crook of his arm. Marius met her eyes, and when he smiled at her, her whole face lit up. Enjolras felt like he was intruding on some private moment, and he glanced at Courfeyrac who was lighting a cigarette up for Feuilly, his back turned

“Hi.” Enjolras gave Cosette a small smile, and she returned it timidly.

“Enjolras, right?” 

“Yeah.” He was fiddling with his hands, biting down on his lip. “Are you a Barricades fan then?” It seemed like a good thing to ask, and Cosette laughed. She giggled like Jehan, her laughter seemed to bounce round her and light up the dimming October skies.

“No, no I’m not a Barricades fan. I hadn’t heard of them until Marius asked me if I could get him in.” 

“And it’s the getting in bit we need to do now.” Marius nodded towards the door, where the security was beginning to take their place and girls in the line were frantically making sure they had everything in their bags. Cosette beckoned to them to follow her as she kept her hand in Marius’s and Enjolras found himself trying to keep up with Jehan who was bouncing and grinning and giggling so loudly, ignoring the hisses and the dirty looks sent their way from the people who’d spent all day queuing. Jehan’s feet barely touched the ground as he danced from one foot to the other and his giggling was so infectious Enjolras couldn’t help but smile, butterflies dancing in his stomach.

Jehan all but ran down the stairs that lead to the concert hall and there was a downstairs bar, much to Courfeyrac’s delight. Enjolras didn’t run with Jehan for the barrier, but he didn’t want to be with Courfeyrac and Grantaire at the bar either. 

“It’s not bad in here, is it?” Marius seemed to have siddled over, his hands in his pockets as he stared up towards the ceiling.

“The acoustics are quite good.” He shrugged, looking at the same place Marius was looking, unable to see whatever it was that had Marius transfixed. 

“I meant to ask you about your club, you don’t mind me taking part in your debate?” 

“Of course not, we need a few fresh faces.” Enjolras dropped his head to his feet, reaching for pockets and remembering his cardigan didn’t have them, instead shoving his hands into his jeans. “Courf told me I’d find you interesting.” Marius laughed at that, low and rumbling and Enjolras smiled.

“He said interesting? Not the word I would have used.” 

“And what word would you have used?” Enjolras tipped his head, a corner of his mouth quirking into a smile as Marius took a step back, leaning against one of the railings. 

“Maybe not interesting. Exciting, perhaps. Different, maybe. He could even have used intelligent.” Marius folded his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Who’s to say we’re not intelligent?” 

“No one doubts your intelligence, but a fresh perspective fuels a curious mind.” Enjolras watched him, and his thoughts drifted to Cosette and the look of adoration that Marius gave her, and it made him wonder if anyone looked at him like that, if _Grantaire_ looked at him like that. It gave him butterflies and he didn’t meant to glance over to the bar but he had to, he couldn’t help himself and he felt his stomach clench when he saw Grantaire tip his head back and laugh at something Bahorel had said. “How long have you been together?” He hadn’t realised Marius had been watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“We, I, we’re not together.” He fixed his eyes on his feet, a rush of blood staining his cheeks red and leaving him stumbling over his words.

“Really? He’s been making eyes at you all since you got here.” 

“It’s a long story Marius.” He sighed, looking up and fiddling with his thumbs.

“Want to tell me it over a drink?” 

“I’ll just have water. Here.” Enjolras thrust some coins at him after digging around in his wallet, but Marius shook his head.

“I get drinks free.” 

Enjolras had rushed to the front when people started pouring in and the lights went down, and Jehan had pulled him up to the barrier before the support band even started. There were so many people, crammed into this tiny room and Enjolras hadn’t realised exactly how popular Barricades were. He hasn’t even heard of the support band, but Jehan can sing to every word of their songs and the noise from the guitars and the drums is deafening. There’s an adrenaline that’s kickstarted and leaves him high and energised and he bounces on his feet along with Jehan, whooping and yelling and he doesn’t mean to hit the girl next to him and send her drink down the front of her t-shirt.

“Sorry!” He yells, trying to be heard over the music, but she ducks her head in and can barely hear him.

“No worries, I’m Éponine.” She has to repeat herself, shouting as loudly as she can and Enjolras still only hears half of what she says.

“Enjolras.” He replies, aware of how close she’s getting to his personal space. The lights begin to dim again, the support band give their thanks and leave and his ears ring and everything’s muffled. “I really didn’t mean to spill that over you, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologising! It’s fine, seriously.” She puts a hand on his arm and Enjolras freezes, he’s not sure if he should throw her hand off or if he should just wait until she moves it. He’s never been so grateful to be handed a cup of water from one of the stewards in his life. He takes a sip and passes it to Jehan who drinks what’s left in one, before he gets one of those half-filled plastic cups for the girl who introduced herself as Éponine. There’s a chant that starts in the middle of the crowd, for Barricades, and Jehan joins in with a scream. He grabs Enjolras’s arm and throws it up with his own, letting out a whoop and Enjolras smiles at him. He’s never seen someone so alive as Jehan is right now, the features of his face burning with a bright passion that Enjolras wishes he could harness. Jehan chants and even though his voice is starting to get rough and hoarse he keeps going until the whole crowd stops. Enjolras thinks passion is beautiful and he nudges Jehan with his elbow as softly as he can, giving him a smile. He’s forgotten about Éponine, until she squeezes up next to him on the barrier. 

Enjolras knows Courfeyrac would probably be sat giving him a thumbs up and suggestive winks if he could see him, but Enjolras isn’t like Courfeyrac. He knows his friends would probably find her pretty, with her dark hair and dark eyes, and she is pretty, but she’s not the right pretty. Her eyes aren’t that bright blue and she’s not tall and lean and lanky and she’s just not right. Still, Enjolras imagines if he shuts his eyes he could kiss her, not that he could imagine kissing a girl. He’s only done it once, when he was seven and she was six and Combeferre had dared him and he’d vowed never again (and he’d meant it) and he’s only kissed two other people in his life and one of them was a mistake that left him tossing and turning and he really doesn’t want to think about this now, not when his reason for coming out tonight was trying to clear his mind and enjoy himself.

The lights dim again and the whole crowd seems to draw in a breath at once, and a scream echoes round the hall as the lights go up and the lead singer walks out. Jehan leaps about a foot into the air and screeches as he presses himself up against the barrier, his hand outstretched as he tries to reach the stage. He looks like he’s about to tip over and Enjolras is seriously debating grabbing him when they launch into their first song, and it’s the one about the boys who fight for what they believe in and the pair who die hand in hand in a final confrontation. Enjolras can’t help but sing along, screaming the words he knows so well with a desperate attempt to be heard. He doesn’t care that he’s out of tune and he can’t really hear what’s being sung over the crash of the drums because he’s so lost in the words and the music and the crowd and Jehan giggles and Enjolras tips his head back and shuts his eyes, because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now. Jehan bounces and screams and he’s so loud that it brings Enjolras back to where he is right now. The guitarist is holding out a pick for him and it’s just out of his reach so Enjolras takes it for him and Jehan pulls him into a hug. The dark haired girl from earlier bumps his shoulder, and he turns his head to face her.

“Do you think you could get me one?” She cups her hands round his ear and yells and he can just about hear her.

“I don’t know.” He shouts back but she furrows her brow in confusion, so he shrugs. She manages to wriggle her way between him and the barrier for the next song and Enjolras keeps his hand next to Jehan’s so he doesn’t lose him in the crowd. He writes it off as it just being how the crowd is moving, but by the fourth song he’s had enough of this girl and he’s tried to ignore her or push in to get his place back. “Excuse me?” He has to put his face close to her ear, and she turns her head so her lips are inches from his. Enjolras is trapped like this and he feels so uncomfortable that the hairs in his spine are standing on end and he’s really not enjoying this concert any more. 

“Yeah?” She asks, and he swears she grinds her hips into his.

“Éponine, right?” She nods and he guesses he can hear her. “Look, I don’t want to sound rude but can I have my space back?” He tries to shout and he’s pretty sure she doesn’t catch everything he says because he can barely hear himself over the noise. He can still feel Jehan bumping against him as he bounces, and it gives him some reassurance although he’s not sure what good Jehan would do in a fight because he’s even smaller than he is. 

“Sorry, I can’t really, I keep getting pushed.” He quirks his head, and she definitely grinds her hips against him and no, that’s really not okay. “Pushed!” She yells louder, but Enjolras has frozen the same way he did when she put her hand on his arm. He’s too polite to tell her to fuck off and find someone else but the way she’s behaving is repulsing him. She seems to think he still hasn’t understood what she said, and instead puts her lips close to his ear “Pushed.” She repeats, and he can feel her warm breath on his cheek and he really doesn’t mean to grip harder onto the barrier and to elbow Jehan in the side, but he does. 

“He’s not interested love.” Enjolras whips his head round, and Grantaire is fighting his way through the crowd like a knight in shining armour. He feels waves of relief wash over him as he pushes his way through more people. Enjolras bites his lip, and Grantaire must have seen how uncomfortable he was from the bar or something. She doesn’t take the hint, and keeps dancing. “Excuse me, do you want to leave him the fuck alone?” Grantaire shouts at her, and Éponine snaps her head round, her hair manages to hit Enjolras across the cheek and he can smell Grantaire now, the mint and the tobacco covered up with aftershave and cheap beer and sweat.

“You speak for him?” They’re talking about him like he’s not there, and he feels Grantaire’s hands on his waists before he realises and he really isn’t happy with the amount of touching and he’s starting to feel violated. 

“Back the fuck off, he’s my man.” Grantaire growls and Enjolras ignores the jolt that runs up his spine. She takes the hint now, disappearing with a huff back into the crowd. “You alright?” Grantaire uses his hands to turn Enjolras so he’s facing him, away from the stage. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” The song that was playing comes to a close, the singer takes a break to speak. “Do you mind, your hands. Take them off.” Enjolras isn’t afraid of lifting Grantaire’s hands off his hips, even if for a second he does miss them.

“Sorry.” He mutters, and Enjolras just sighs. He’s had enough of tonight ruined to really get into this now, he wants to enjoy the music with Jehan and sing along with the few songs he knows. The guitarist is playing a few chords and the crowd joins in with the lyrics and you don’t even have to know them to join in and sing. Everyone does it, Enjolras swears he even hears Courfeyrac joining in from down the back. It’s moving, this many people in one place singing the same lines of the same song in the same tune. He doesn’t mean to cry, but a tear runs down his cheek anyway as he joins in and sings of unrequited love and the bittersweet realisation when it’s returned. He really doesn’t mean to cry but he can’t help it

The set is wrapped up after they play three songs from their new album, four from the old, and then two more cover songs, and then the crowd begins to slowly filter out. Jehan is still bouncing, giggling and grinning and he can’t let go of his pick. He’s held it in the palm of his thin hand for the whole show and Enjolras can’t help but notice that he looks exhausted. Grantaire disappeared three songs ago and he’s probably at the bar. 

“We need to find Grantaire to get home.” Enjolras turns to face Jehan, who nods and yawns. 

“Courfeyrac won’t have left the bar, he didn’t last time.” Enjolras nods and takes Jehan’s hand, dragging him through the people leaving and running nearly headfirst into Feuilly.

“Enjolras! Jehan!” Feuilly’s tipsy, there’s a slight slur on his words and his cheeks are a pinched red. 

“Feuilly, have you seen Courfeyrac or Grantaire?” Jehan yawns again, and Feuilly nods. 

“Courf’s still at the bar, I think R’s with him. I’ll meet you guys outside, I need to piss.” Enjolras doesn’t wait to say goodbye, he goes back to pulling Jehan through the thinning lines of people. 

Of course Courfeyrac is at the bar, Grantaire’s supporting him as he giggles loudly. He’s such a damn lightweight who can’t handle any alcohol no matter what it was, and he drinks like there’s no tomorrow and always whines and groans when he’s hungover. Not even Grantaire gets as drunk as Courfeyrac does sometimes, and Enjolras can’t help but sigh.

“There’s no way he can go to back to the boarding house in this state.” Joly crosses his arms in front of him. 

“He has to go back, Matron’s expecting him back.” Grantaire sighs and Enjolras watches, he really can’t be bothered to get involved in this at all.

“How will we get him in? The only other week boarder here is Jehan.” 

“I can manage!” Jehan seems to squeak it, jumping up. “I’ve done it before, it’s not hard. Once I got him up the stairs Bossuet helped me look after him.” 

“Jehan are you sure?” Joly cut in, and Jehan nodded enthusiastically, his hair bobbing up and down and he shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes.

“I’m sure! It’ll be fine.” Courfeyrac giggles, catcalling at some of the girls who walk past. Grantaire just sighs, trying his best to keep him upright as they stumble up the stairs and the whole group of them seems to collapse onto the street.

“I’ll call for cabs, I don’t go past the school on my way home.” Grantaire has his phone out before they can stop him, dialling a number and Enjolras just sits on the street kerb. His hair has curled even more than normal and he stinks of sweat and beer and it doesn’t smell good mixed together. He’s deep in thought about nothing, about green hoodies and red cardigans and what happens if you were to mix red and green and would it really make that horrible muddy brown. He needs to calm down, it’s busy and bustling and fills his head with too much at once, when Grantaire sits next to him on the kerb. “Hey.” He breaks his train of thought, and Grantaire’s eyes are fixed on him.

“Hi,” Enjolras traces his finger in the dust on the pavement. It turns his finger grey but he doesn’t care, “I guess I should thank you.”

“I guess I should offer you a lift home.” Enjolras turns so he’s facing him now, because he wants to go home to his bed but he’s not sure what actually happened to everyone else. He was too busy trying to stop his thoughts racing to really care. “Jehan took Courfeyrac home, and Joly went with them. Bahorel and Feuilly go the same way, they’re waiting on their cab still.”

“Oh. I live miles out though.”

“You’re on my way home.” Grantaire shrugs, and Enjolras goes back to tracing the dirt. 

“How far out do you live?” He’s not sure what he’s drawing really, it’s squiggles In dust and sand and turning his fingers black, but it gives him something to at least do with his hands.

“I’m an hour out of the city.” Grantaire takes his lighter and a cigarette from his pocket, and he lights up and inhales deeply. “You want some?”

“I don’t smoke.” Enjolras mutters, although he can feel his body crave the nicotine as he tries his hardest not to look like he’s inhaling the second hand smoke and savouring it.

“We can leave now if you want, it’s getting late and I want to be home before one this morning.” Grantaire stands up, he holds his hand out and Enjolras dusts his palm on his jeans, taking the hand and letting Grantaire pull him to his feet. “I meant it when I said I was sorry for what happened earlier.” Grantaire walks so their hands brush and it makes his heart leap a little each time.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Enjolras’ voice is soft, and Grantaire takes the hint. When they reach his Golf Enjolras can smell the same beer from earlier. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” He asks, and Grantaire nods, making a face at him before he realises.

“Courfeyrac spilt one of his drinks over me.” He opens the door and slips into the driver’s seat, opening the passenger side for him. There’s an easy silence that falls over both of them, the smell of mint and tobacco and what could be weed is a lot stronger now it’s just the two of them. Enjolras doesn’t mean to enjoy it, but he does and Grantaire seems to notice because he gets this small smirk on his face.

“If you take the back road, it’s quicker.” Enjolras points to an exit on the left and Grantaire indicates, nodding. They fall back into silence until Grantaire presses a button for the radio, and Enjolras is surprised when he’s turned on the CD player and it’s classical.

“You don’t mind?” Grantaire asks, and he looks over so he can study his profile, his straight nose and his full lips.

“No, I don’t.” Grantaire turns away before Enjolras realises he was looking at him. Enjolras can’t help but smile when he recognises the music and the composer because he had no idea Grantaire likes classical music. There’s one piece that’s on there twice and Enjolras will always recognise it because it’s one of his favourites and his father used to play it for him on the French Horn. “I didn’t know you liked Holst?”

“Mars is my favourite, I listen to it when I work out.” He paused, thinking of his words before he laughed. Enjolras loved his laugh, he decided then and there. He loved the way Grantaire smiled when he laughed and not even his doubting heart could deny it. “God, that sounds so creepy. I’m a boxer. I find classical music motivates me.”

“My father used to play it for me.” Enjolras smiled wide, and Grantaire returned it.

“He doesn’t play any more?”

“He’s not been home in a long time. He keeps promising me he’ll teach me it.” 

“What do you play?” Grantaire could only think that Enjolras played the piano or the cello, his fingers were so long and thin that they suited them, but then he was no musical expert.

“I play piano and trumpet, but my true love is the clarinet. What about you?”

“I picked up a few bits of guitar, I sing sometimes. My old man doesn’t like it though.” Grantaire turned again, heading up the drive way and Enjolras felt his heart sink a little. “I’m not meant to be home this weekend, but like fuck I’ll listen to my old man when he’s in town.” Grantaire snorted, parking on the gravel. The house looked so empty, so huge and uninviting when there were no cars in the garage and the lights were off, not that it looked much better when there were people inside it.

“I’m sorry, about your father, R.” 

“I’m used to it, E.” Grantaire smirked at the nicknames, he couldn’t help himself and Enjolras ducked his head and giggled. He reached his hand forward, finding Grantaire’s and sliding his palm over the back of his hand. Grantaire watched him, watched his fingers as they searched for where they were meant to fit. Grantaire’s hands were warm, and Enjolras kept his eyes on his face, while Grantaire’s traced where their fingers met. “You don’t know how to feel about me, do you?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras cupped his face with his free hand.

“I have to go.” He muttered, leaning over so he could kiss Grantaire’s cheek, lingering a little too long so he could smell his scent of mint and tobacco just a second more. "Oh, um, by the way, who told you to I was having trouble with that girl?"

"Marius." Grantaire smiles, laughing and Enjolras fights back a grin as Grantaire leans across to open the door for him. He never looked back over his shoulder once he'd left, his cheeks tinted pink and heart thudding wildly in his chest.

He'll thank Marius sometime later, when the heat in his face dies down and he can think of Grantaire without a stupid smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **Looking for a beta, please send me a DM over at @frafeyrac on twitter or a message as frafeyracs on tumblr**
> 
> oooh look long chapter because I can't do my updates on time, sorry guys!
> 
> argh Jehan who can't love him because I know I do.  
> I have some great stuff planned and great angst and you'll all hopefully enjoy it.
> 
> ~~also combeferre being a bit of a dick (and that will be explained) ties in coincidentally with the whole Killian thing)~~
> 
> also more Courfeyrac and finally Marius who's a pretty cool guy.  
> there's also my view on the e/é ship as well so yeah, enjoy.
> 
> again, apologise for anything OOC as I haven't yet read The Brick, only going by musicals and headcanons and other things.


	4. Three - Film D'Horreur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s expects it’s a text from Combeferre or Jehan or maybe even Joly. He tucks his clarinet under his arm and to his surprise it’s an unrecognised number. He’s curious when he unlocks his phone, he rarely gets texts from his friends, let alone random phone numbers.

When you’re alone, days roll into each other. You forget where one started and the other ended and lonely weekends end up a big smudge of sleeping and eating and working that’s indistinguishable from the other. The one thing that keeps Enjolras grounded on his weekends is his mother, and her constant reminders of doing this and that even though his kicks his heels and complains and tells her to tidy up after him. 

He’s so pissed at Combeferre, who never showed up like he’d promised and he still hadn’t heard from him. He hadn’t heard from Courfeyrac or Joly or Bahorel, although Jehan had texted him on Friday night to tell him he got Courfeyrac up to bed and then Matron came up and he hadn’t seen or heard from Courfeyrac since. It’s Saturday afternoon and Enjolras is finishing up his essay he was set, ‘Explore the way Orwell presents strong feelings (of ambition and power) to interest the reader in Animal Farm’, and it’s more of a criticism of how Napoleon became the sole power and for revolution to be successful then there has to be more than one leader, and how the people need to be the ones who are listened to, not oppressed. It’s not what was asked for but Enjolras hated that book with such a passion he would quite happily rip it up and burn it when he was finally finished this school year. He has so much work to do and even though he considers himself to be quite solitary he does get lonely sometimes, and it’s why he decides to put his pen down and carefully slide out the black case from under his bed. His clarinet is the most expensive thing he owns, a gift from his grandfather when he was fourteen. He loves the instrument like it’s a part of him and he’s never heard one with as sweet a sound as his. There’s something about the tone that sends a shiver down his spine.

He plays to try and quench the burning feeling of loneliness in his stomach and he plays because he’s left it too long since he last practiced. He’s only got one chipped reed left and it squeaks when he first places his fingers over the silver keys and blows. He adjusts, trying again and this time he plays a B. It’s the lower notes of the clarinet that he loves, the deep sounds of the instrument compared to the high notes that screech and wail unless he can make sure his fingers cover each key perfectly. He has one piece memorised and he is a fraction of the way through, struggling to hit the high A when his phone vibrates loudly on his bedside table. 

He’s expects it’s a text from Combeferre or Jehan or maybe even Joly. He tucks his clarinet under his arm and to his surprise it’s an unrecognised number. He’s curious when he unlocks his phone, he rarely gets texts from his friends, let alone random phone numbers.

_Do you want to catch a film? – R_

His stomach clenches uncomfortably, there’s only one person he knows who signs his name with an R and it’s Grantaire and he’s spent all his Saturday morning trying not to think of Grantaire. He’s not sure what to say, it sounds suspiciously like a date and he doesn’t know how Grantaire got his number. He’s tempted not to reply at all.

_How did you get my number?_

He waits for a minute, but his phone doesn’t vibrate so he puts it back down and picks his clarinet up again. He’s wrapped his lips around the mouthpiece and is about to try and hit the high A again when his phone vibrates.

_Courfeyrac gave it to me on Friday – R_

Enjolras really should have guessed it would have been Courfeyrac, everything always happens because of Courfeyrac. He’s always there, the pusher at the bottom who seems to make everything happen.

_Who else is going?_

Enjolras won’t go if there’s no one else. He doesn’t really want to be left alone with Grantaire, it’s not that he doesn’t trust him but he doesn’t trust himself. The reply comes through quicker this time.

_Marius and Cossette and me. I don’t want to be a third wheel and everyone else is busy – R_

Enjolras laughs in spite of himself, and he smiles as his fingers tap the keys.

_When, where and what film?_

He gets a reply nearly as soon as his text has sent.

_Half three. The Picture House. Cosette’s choosing – R_

He checks the clock and its quarter past two which means he’ll have to get the next bus into town. His mother had left him this morning and told him to make himself busy, and he left a note for her on his way out explaining where he’s going.

The bus into town is crowded, it’s a Saturday afternoon and there’s a small child crying loudly and Enjolras has had enough of people by the time he reaches the cinema. Grantaire’s waiting outside with a cigarette in his mouth and a grey beanie he’s never seen before and Enjolras can’t help wonder where Marius is. He feels so awkward, walking over to him. Grantaire waves his hand as soon as he sees him and he smiles this little half smiles and Enjolras can’t help but think it was only for him.

“Grantaire, hello. I um, where’s Marius and Cosette?” Enjolras peers through the glass doors into the foyer of the cinema but he can’t see head nor tail or Cosette or Marius. He does see how red Grantaire’s cheeks go and it makes him smirk a little bit because for once he isn’t the one with pink cheeks and a strange embarrassed look on his face. 

“I might have told you the wrong time so you’d get here earlier.” Grantaire mumbles and chuckles and Enjolras discovers that Grantaire has this smile that’s the most genuine smile he’s ever seen. “It sounds really cheesy I’m so sorry. Do you want to go and get a coffee or something while we wait?”

“How long will Marius and Cosette be?” He taps his foot absently, Grantaire takes his cigarette from his mouth and stamps it out on the concrete paving.

“Cosette said the film starts at quarter past four.” Grantaire scratches at his left arm and if it’s possible, he goes a bit redder. Enjolras throws his hands out in complaint because he could have got the later bus that goes a different way and not have been sat behind two children who spent their time fighting with each other while their mother tried her best to control them and a baby screamed and bawled with ear-splitting cries and an elderly lady spent her journey complaining about how inconsiderate he was for not standing to give her his seat, even though there was another seat closer to the driver next to a young girl travelling by herself. He also had to run to get that bus and made a fool of himself tripping up over his own feet and had skinned the palms of his hands and his knee stung.

“Grantaire, I had to run to get that bus! I tripped up and fell to make sure I was here on time for you, and you’re telling me I could have been here later and still have been on time?” Enjolras rocks backwards on his feet, the way he always does when he’s angry.

“Are you hurt? Did you fall hard? What did you trip over?” Grantaire looks so genuinely concerned that he finds himself struggling to stay annoyed at him. 

“I grazed my palms, I tripped over my own feet.” He says it as softly as he can, keeping his eyes on the chewing gum that’s been left on the pavement. 

“I didn’t catch all of that. You tripped over your own feet?” Grantaire is biting his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing. Enjolras is adorable when he’s flustered and irritated and Grantaire does this on purpose sometimes because when he’s angry there’s a passion in his eyes that burns in a way Grantaire hasn’t seen it ever burn before and he comes alive in a whole different way.

“Yes. I tripped over my own feet and I grazed my palms.” Enjolras rolls his eyes and Grantaire reaches for his hands, catching his wrists and turning them so he’s palm side up.

“Let me see.” Grantaire gently pulls his hands to his face and kisses each palm softly. Enjolras freezes at his touch and Grantaire frowns, “Why do you do that?” He asks, letting go of his hands and they fall to his sides.

“Do what?” Enjolras thrust his hands into his pockets, blowing his cheeks out and sighing. 

“You tense up, you freeze every time someone touches you in a certain way.” Grantaire reaches for his cheek but Enjolras turns his head away.

“I don’t like people touching me.” He replies, and Grantaire shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He takes another cigarette out from his pack in his back pocket and offers one to Enjolras, who shakes his head. 

“You let Courfeyrac and Combeferre and Jehan touch you. You let me touch your hands last night.” Grantaire’s voice is mumbled around the cigarette in his mouth as he tries to light up, swearing under his breath when his lighter sparks but there’s no flame.

“Let me,” Enjolras says, motioning with his hands and Grantaire gives him his lighter and Enjolras gets a small flame the first time he tries, “they always work for me, I don’t know why.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Grantaire inhales deeply, and Enjolras can’t help but wonder how many he smokes a day because this is his second in about fifteen minutes and surely that can’t be healthy.

“It’s different when it’s them touching me, I don’t feel comfortable when strangers touch me.” He shrugs and he’s starting to wish that he’d taken Grantaire’s offer of a fag.

“Is that what you see me as, a stranger?” Grantaire sounds offended, and Enjolras opens his mouth to backtrack his words. There’s a cold pinching breeze and it nips at his cheeks and his fingers and makes him wish he’d just agreed to go for coffee while they waited.

“No, I just don’t know you as well as Combeferre and Courfeyrac,” He was being careful with his words now, “look, why don’t we just go and get coffee or something I’m getting cold out here and I want to sit down.”

“Okay.” Grantaire inhales again, slowly and then he stamps his cigarette out, muttering something about having wasted a good cigarette. Enjolras ignores him, reaching out for Grantaire’s hand. His fingers brush against the back of Grantaire’s hand and he jumps. Enjolras tries to make their hands fit together but Grantaire is the one who seems to find his hand and lace their fingers together, his palm warm.

Grantaire leads him across the street to a tiny little coffee shop, and Enjolras orders a milkshake and Grantaire copies him. They sit near the window so they can see Marius or Cosette if they arrive early and Grantaire seems to enjoy watching all the people walk past. Enjolras is too focused on Grantaire to really care. Grantaire’s lanky, his legs seem to go on for miles and they awkwardly brush feet under the table.

“I want to get to know you.” Enjolras looks Grantaire dead in the eye, and Grantaire smirks. He can’t help himself

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” There’s a way that he says it that makes Grantaire pause and think of everything he can tell Enjolras.

“Where do you want me to start?” Grantaire asks, and accidentally bumps his knee against his. He’s been waiting for this moment, the moment when he can spill his heart but it’s too soon. How can he tell Enjolras everything he wants to when they barely know each other and shared a kiss once that sent Enjolras spiralling into a world of confusion and left Grantaire wondering what he’d done wrong.

“I don’t know?” Enjolras makes this face as he shrugs where his eyes widen and he shakes his head with a furrowed brow and it makes Grantaire laugh a little too much. 

“Okay, so I’m eighteen.” 

“I know that already.” Enjolras doesn’t mean to snap but he does. Grantaire looks at him with this cool expression, stirring his milkshake with the tip of his finger on the straw.

“Let me finish,” Grantaire dips his head down in a slow nod, and then he looks back up at Enjolras, “can I continue?”

“Yes.” Enjolras hates it when he does this.

“I’m eighteen, my birthday’s in July. I have three sisters.” Enjolras raises his hand to silence him, and Grantaire rolls his eyes. “What?”

“You’re not doing it right. I want you to tell me everything, not things I know.” 

“You’re fucking demanding, you know that?” Grantaire scowls playfully and Enjolras taps his fingers on the table loudly. 

“Don’t swear at me.” He hisses and Grantaire raises his hands in surrender.

“Fine, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll tell you that I think you need to lighten up because you’re far too serious, and that I think you bullshit a lot of the time when you speak. I’ll tell you   
that I don’t think you really believe the cause you talk about. I’ll tell you that you’re spoilt and know little of the cause you talk about, that you’re too timid and shy to be a leader.” Grantaire sat back on his chair, and Enjolras huffed, folding his arms and staring pointedly out the window. This isn’t going well, and Grantaire sighs loudly. “I might just go, I have training tomorrow morning and can’t be bothered with your shit today.” 

“What are you training for?” Enjolras asks him, voice sharp and clear and Grantaire can’t help but wonder if what he’s said has actually hurt him a little because he won’t look at him, and wipes his eye discreetly on his sleeve.

“It’s a boxing thing, it’s not for anything important but I have a fight in a few weeks and just need to get as much training work in. My right hook is my biggest let down.” Enjolras giggles at this, and Grantaire stares at him a little open mouthed, because Enjolras isn’t meant to giggle. He’s heard him laugh before and it’s like a peeling of bells that tumbles from his mouth, but a _giggle_. It’s a heavenly sound that not even Jehan could much and Grantaire can see something in Enjolras that he’s never seen before. He has to be perfect, of course he does. He has to be beautiful and he has to giggle and it sounds like it comes from an angel.

“Tell me more about your life Grantaire.” He smiles and Grantaire puts his hand on the table, sipping his shake through a straw. He jumps when he feels Enjolras run his fingers down his forearm, tracing the white scar on the back of his hand.

“I fell off my bike when I was four. I cried and my Ma tried to fix me up but my hand still bled and ruined her linen table cloth.” Grantaire takes his hand and guides him to another scar, flipping his left arm over and exposing his wrist. “I managed to set my sleeve on fire last December, when I was lighting candles.” Enjolras smiles when he traces his hand over the still-pink skin. His fingers run of his own accord, but Grantaire pulled his arm away when his fingers drifted under his sleeve. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I just have a few bruises up there, they’re tender.” Grantaire shrugs and instead puts his hand back down on the marble table top, spreading his fingers wide.

“How did you get them?” 

“My old man wasn’t happy I came home for the weekend.” Grantaire shrugged again, shifting so he was staring out the window and taking his hand away as Enjolras reached for it. “Marius and Cosette are here.” He said, nodding his head in their direction. Enjolras looked at what was left of his shake, it was a waste to throw out so much good food. 

He was about to protest when he realised Grantaire was standing and waiting for him, and his cheeks flushed as he stood up and Grantaire held the door open for him. Enjolras doesn’t listen as they talk, instead he thinks of what Grantaire means and his mind runs and leaps. He wants to know what Grantaire means, he hopes he’s exaggerating when he says he’s got a few bruises but he doesn’t think he is. Enjolras wants to tell Grantaire he’ll listen to him, but he doesn’t know how.

“Enjolras, are you with us?” Marius laughs, and someone nudges him bringing him back to now

“I, what, um, yeah?” He coughs into his hand and he is just a little disoriented. 

“We need to get going if we’re going to catch this film.” Cosette smiles and Enjolras nods, he wasn’t listening and has no idea what film they’re talking about. Grantaire seems to notice his lack of interest, because he lingers behind and bumps his shoulder.

“Alright?” He asks him softly, so Marius won’t hear him as he holds the door open and crosses the foyer to the ticket booth.

“What did you mean, R?” Enjolras asks, “About your father?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Grantaire bumps their hands together and it’s Enjolras who grips their hands together and gives his palm a squeeze before he lets go and mumbles a ‘same’ to the cashier and slides a note under the glass window. He buys popcorn even though he isn’t hungry, he feels out of place walking behind Marius and Cosette and Grantaire, and it’s Grantaire who pats the seat next to him. 

Enjolras had no idea that Cosette was a huge fan of horror films, no matter how clichéd and silly she said she got a thrill from them. The adverts had just finished rolling when the title was blown up on the screen, and Enjolras groaned. He should have checked the film instead of blindly following, he hates horror films and this is the one Courfeyrac has been begging him to see with him for weeks since he saw the trailer. Enjolras tried to focus on something else, Grantaire’s casual arm around the back of his chair or the woman three rows down who was texting her sister about feeding the puppy, but he lasts ten minutes before he jumps. Grantaire snorts out a laugh and Enjolras blushes when he realises he’s probably spent more time watching him than the film itself. Enjolras watches through his fingers, wide eyed and trying not to squeal. When he jumps, he can’t help it and he only just manages to grit his teeth enough that he doesn’t scream. He spills his popcorn on the floor and grabs the nearest thing, that just happens to be Grantaire, and buries his head into his shoulder. Grantaire’s laughing, he can feel the way his body shakes and rises. Enjolras dares take another peek at the screen but muffles his squeal in Grantaire’s shirt. Grantaire brings his hand round his back so he can hold him and Enjolras has gripped onto his arm forearm and his nails are starting to mark his skin.

Grantaire smells of mint and tobacco and he smells safe. Enjolras doesn’t do horror films and this one is just as terrifying as Courfeyrac promised it would be. He could feel Grantaire’s hand on his back, burying himself deeper into his shoulder so all he could smell was Grantaire and he could screw his eyes shut. There’s a crash that makes him jump and Grantaire moves his hand so he slides his hand through his hair.

“You okay?” Grantaire asks him, and Enjolras nods furiously but he’s unable to lift his head from his shoulder. Enjolras grips on his arm a little tighter and he winces. “Can I move your hands?” He waits for the nod before carefully peeling his hands off his arms. Enjolras grips onto his hand in what feels like some sort of death grip, clutching his fingers so tightly they end up stuck together. Enjolras can feel Grantaire’s thumb on his wrist and the back of his hand, circling and tracing soft lines. It’s strangely relaxing, he releases his grip so it’s not and Grantaire seems to breathe a sigh of relief. Enjolras isn’t sure if he can dare look at the screen again, and when he does he lets out a sob and Grantaire rubs circles into the back of his neck before he can grip at the bruises on his arms again. 

Grantaire jumps and Marius screams, and Enjolras quivers and presses his face into the crook of Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire can feel his warm, shallow breath on his skin and the hand that clutches his tightens. Grantaire’s breath hitches as he feels the closeness between their two bodies, the warmth that radiates from his skin and Enjolras can feel the soft throb of his heartbeat. He wants to stay like this, with Grantaire’s scent of mint and tobacco and his fingers tracing reassuring circles on his back. Grantaire can’t see the way that Enjolras looks at him, his eyes fixed on the screen and his breathing even and slow. Enjolras sits up, and Grantaire seems to notice his loss because his arm pauses on his back and then falls around his waist and tightens, as though he wants to hold him there. He glances at the screen at the wrong moment, and shrieks. Grantaire pulls him into his chest, muttering something soothing and the armrest is cutting into his stomach painfully, but Grantaire is solid and steady underneath him and Enjolras won’t let him go. 

Grantaire jumps again and he manages to muffle a scream, gripping onto his seat with a free hand and he hides his face in golden blond curls. Enjolras is shaking by the time the credits roll, sitting up and Grantaire makes a small noise of annoyance as Enjolras drops his hand. He sits up, tries his best to straighten himself out. Marius and Cosette are waiting to get past, and Enjolras isn’t sure if his legs work yet. He’s been terrified of horror films since he was five, when he stayed with his cousins and his uncle had taken him out shooting for the first time. His cousins were older than he was, and they made him watch some horror film they could only just sit through. He’d spent the night crying whilst his cousins rewound the video tape to the parts with the most blood and the parts that sent chills up their spines and when his uncle had shot down a bird and sent Enjolras to collect it he’d screamed. He wobbled when he stood, only just making it to the end of the row without collapsing.

“What did you think?” Cosette asks, and even Marius is looking pale.

“Never again, Cosette.” He says softly and Enjolras can’t help but agree with him. Cosette just laughs, her face is bright and Enjolras doesn’t understand how she can be so happy after watching what has been one of the scariest two hours of his life.

“It was a bit sort of, hack every one up the killer’s behind you. Much better than Mama or Insidious though.” Grantaire joins them and Cosette seems to bounce down the stairs. Enjolras feels ready to be sick, and Grantaire’s hand on his arm steadies him. His touch sends shocks running through him in ways nothing ever has.

“I didn’t know you really don’t like horror films. I’m sorry.” Grantaire presses a hand to his cheeks and then to his forehead. “You look really ill.” 

“I just want to go home.” Enjolras can feel his lip quivering, and he tells himself he won’t cry now, in front of Grantaire. “I want to get out of here please Grantaire.” He whispers, and Grantaire looks over the heads of the others in the cinema, Marius and Cosette aren’t that far ahead.

“Marius!” He yells, and someone turns round and smiles. “I’m taking Enjolras home, he feels sick.” There’s a thumbs up and Enjolras is sure he’ll let Grantaire carry him home at this point.

“I feel fine, I just didn’t realise it would be that bad.” He hiccups and Grantaire cups his face. His fingers are long and thin and Enjolras lets out this tiny sigh. Even though the lights have gone up there are these drastic shadows thrown around on their faces. 

“You really don’t look fine.” Grantaire says quietly, and Enjolras becomes aware of how close they are, how his heart is racing and rushing and he can feel the sweat begin to form on his palms. He wants Grantaire to pull him close and kiss him and tell him it’s all okay, but he doesn’t. He stays there and drops his hand away and Enjolras misses it, he misses it so much he leans forward and closes the gap between them. Grantaire’s surprised, but Enjolras presses his cherry red mouth against his and he feels his heart jump into his throat. He teases is mouth open, and he can feel Enjolras toying with the hair on the nape of his neck. Grantaire tastes as he remembers him, like mint and tobacco and he feels like he can’t breathe. He misses his mouth when he’s gone, and then Grantaire pulls him closer and kisses him again, harder and he feels like this is where he’s meant to be. There’s something running through his veins that he’s missed for so long, something that sparks a match and a fire and passion and Grantaire slides their hands together in some cheap move he learnt a few years ago from some boy he once knew.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras breathes the word so softly and Grantaire drops his gaze. He can’t see him run away again. “Take me home, please.” He still shakes on his feet, although this time it’s not from some scary film but from electric kisses that make his knees weak and surprisingly soft hands that kindled a flame that’s just begun to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol yes I suck and I'm updating late but I have some cute Jehan/Courf coming up for you all tomorrow.
> 
> eh this chapter sucked I just wanted cute times and yeah sorry guys.
> 
> same warnings as usual, still looking for a beta.


	5. Four - Baiser

October turns into November far too quickly and the last of the summer heat dies with the leaves on the trees. Enjolras has a new fire in him, and it fuels his speeches. He’s a dancer with a new confidence that can only be put down to Grantaire who puts his blind faith into him. Things have changed, Enjolras finally forgave Combeferre and Jehan went away for a week and came back fragile. Enjolras heard about Courfeyrac and how he first discovered the vodka was gone and then Joly’s pills and then Grantaire’s and how Courfeyrac had cried when he looked for Jehan and crashed through his door. They don’t talk about it, it’s so raw and there’s something in the way Courfeyrac seems to guard Jehan that tells them not too. They step on eggshells for Courfeyrac’s sake. 

Halloween came and went and it was Combeferre who organised the party at Marius’s house, much to Marius’s annoyance. There had been costumes ranging from Harry Potter to not much there at all and Enjolras had met Éponine again, this time she was sober and apologetic and they started out on a better footing. Grantaire had drunk far too much and Enjolras had refused to have anything to do with him. 

Enjolras had to confess he hadn’t seen as much of Grantaire as he’d liked to, his time spent between classes and his meetings. He sometimes will see Grantaire between classes or when he’s waiting for his mother but Feuilly and Joly have both managed to rope him into helping them with their history coursework and some days he only ever talks to Grantaire when he joins in to try and help.

“I don’t understand how you managed to pass your history GCSE.” Enjolras sighed, handing Feuilly back his essay and taking a sip of herbal tea. Courfeyrac has taken to herbal tea as of late, and Enjolras finds it helps him forget his cravings for cigarettes now he’s finally quit and he means it this time. 

“Neither do I.” Feuilly smoothed out another sheet of paper in his notebook and began to write again. 

“That’s wrong.” Joly pointed at a sentence with his finger and leant over, scribbling a name out with his pen. Enjolras opens his mouth to correct him when he feels the sofa dip down on his left side.

“Afternoon.” Grantaire purred, kissing his cheek. Enjolras sat up a little straighter, pulling his hands into his lap and he can doesn’t have to see Grantaire’s smirk to know it’s there. Grantaire kicks his feet onto the coffee table and on top of his history notes. Enjolras leans forward so he can push them onto the floor and he scowled at him, which made Grantaire laugh.

“Do you mind?” He asks dryly, and Grantaire shrugs.

“I don’t know, do you?”

“If you’re quite finished.” Feuilly coughs and points at the paragraph he’s corrected. Enjolras holds his hand out and scans over the red ink quickly. He chose to ignore Grantaire’s arm round his waist and his fingers making small circles where his shirt has untucked from his trousers under his blazer.

“You’ve got Terrence O’Neill’s successor wrong, as well as your dates _again_ Feuilly.” He’s exasperated, they went over this ten minutes ago.

“I told you that was wrong.” Joly muttered, and earned himself a dig in the ribs.

“R, come and join us!” Combeferre calls, holding out a pool cue as Bahorel sets the triangle. It’ll be an interesting game if it’s between Grantaire and Bahorel, both having a record of never having been beaten.

“I’m busy.” Grantaire calls back and he’s found Enjolras’ sweet spot on his hip that makes him melt into his side. Grantaire had been amazed at how Enjolras turned to putty under his fingers when he massaged just above his hipbone, it reminded him of the stray cat his sister had found that purred when you scratched under its chin. 

“We have beer.” Bahorel opens a bottle on the edge of the table and Grantaire shoots up, leaving Enjolras who lost his balance and nearly toppled sideways. There’s the sound of another beer opening, and then someone breaks the triangle and Enjolras tilted his head enough to see that Combeferre took the first shot.

“Enjolras, was it nineteen-sixty-six or nineteen-sixty-nine that NICRA formed?” Joly asked, and Enjolras let out a despairing sigh, throwing himself backwards into the sofa cushions.

“Look it up in the text book, I’ve already told you.” His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose and he can’t help but notice they’re missing someone. “Where’s Courfeyrac, and Bossuet?”

“Bossuet has decided to go to chess club.” Feuilly says, scratching through a paragraph with his pen.

“Courfeyrac is with Jehan, they’re probably in the garden.” Joly frowns and Enjolras isn’t surprised he’s upset, he’d been close to Jehan until Courfeyrac decided to take him under his wing.

“Again.” Feuilly mutters.

“Do you think he’ll fuck him?” Grantaire leans on the back of the couch, beer in one hand and cue in the other. Enjolras hadn’t seen him walk over, and he leans his head back and smiles up at him, bringing his knees up to his chest.

“No, I don’t.” He raises an eyebrow and Grantaire laughs.

“This is Courfeyrac, he doesn’t do anything unless he ends up getting fucked.” Feuilly laughed, and Grantaire joined in.

“Jehan’s younger than him. Besides, I thought he had undying love to confess to that waitress he saw last year.” Joly’s face matches Enjolras’s thoughts.

“Two years never stopped me.” Grantaire winks as he goes back to take his shot, handing his beer to Combeferre. Enjolras doesn’t mean to go red, but he does. He crossed his arms over his knees and buried his head in the crook of his elbow. Feuilly sniggered and Joly bit his lip.

“I reckon Courf will have slept with him by next Friday,” Bahorel chimes in from across the room, “infact, I’ll put a tenner on it.” 

“Same.” Grantaire adds, and Combeferre rolls his eyes dramatically as he lines up to take his shot.

“I’m betting against. Apart from the fact that they both board here and Jehan is next to the matron and Courfeyrac is above the matron, no, I don’t see it happening.” Joly nods his head with a look of certainty.

“I’m with Joly.” Enjolras mutters.

“What about E and R, how long do you bet until they fuck?” Bahorel raises an eyebrow, trying to keep his face straight.

“ _What?_ ” Enjolras is bright red, and he ducks his head back down into the crook of his arm. 

“I say two weeks.” Feuilly chimes in, and Enjolras groans. 

“I say a month, put a fiver on a month.” Joly raises his hand and laughs with Feuilly.

“I’ll put a tenner on never.” Combeferre laughs, and Grantaire chokes on his beer. Enjolras can’t even lift his head, his cheeks are scarlet and he’s not sure he could look at anyone around them. 

“It’s not like Grantaire shares a room with anyone, you might get your money back Joly.” Bahorel takes a sip of beer and then lines up his next shot.

“I have to share a room with Courfeyrac though.” Joly moans, his forehead smacking off his palms. “It’s bad enough that he has to wank twice a day, can you imagine if he’s with Jehan? He’s so fucking loud.” Feuilly pats his shoulder in faux-sympathy. 

“This conversation is almost wanting to make me teach you history.” Enjolras muttered, his cheeks beginning to cool as he rested his chin on his forearms. “What time is it?”

“It’s quarter to six.” Combeferre replies, and mumbles something no one can hear. 

“I have to go I was meant to get the bus fifteen minutes ago.” He hurries to pull all his books back into his bag, sliding his notebook out from under three different coffee mugs that had long ago been discarded. 

“Why the rush? Come and play pool with us for a while.” Bahorel holds his cue out but Enjolras shakes his head apologetically.

“No, I’ve got a curfew tonight. I have to be home for eight, my parents are having people over for dinner.”

“I have to go into town tonight any way, I can take you home on my way there?” Grantaire puts his beer down when he sees where Enjolras is looking, “I’ve had half a beer, I’ll be fine to drive.”

“Sure, fine.” He sighs, picking up the mugs and taking them into the kitchenette and leaving them on the draining board so they can be washed up in the sink. 

“I’ll get my keys.” He hears Grantaire call as he makes his way to his room and Enjolras puts the coffee jar back into the cupboard and shut the door. He’s waiting by the door with his bag in his hand when Grantaire appears with a beanie, but no coat.

Enjolras waits until they’re on the other side of the door before he reaches up to pull the beanie down further and Grantaire blows his hair out of his eyes.

“It’s cold, so you bring a hat and not a coat?”

“It’s a warm hat.” Grantaire smiles and reaches for his hand, and Enjolras takes it until they see one of the younger boys running through the hall downstairs and Enjolras drops it. 

Grantaire has to sign out, and he doesn't let Enjolras see what he puts down as his reason. Grantaire’s car is cold and apparently the heating doesn't work so they’ll have to freeze. 

“Why are you going into town?” Enjolras asks, he’s toying with the radio in the hope he’ll pick up a station worth listening to. They have a forty five minute drive and he’ll be damned if he sits through it in silence.

“I have an appointment, it’s nothing big.” Grantaire keeps his eyes on the road, but his hand slides across to slap Enjolras’ wrist away from the tuner and he seems to get a musical station the first time he gives it a twist.

“An appointment with who?” 

“With my doctor, I had to get bloods done and apparently something’s come up weird.”

“Oh.” 

He reaches forward to fiddle with the radio again, and Grantaire breaks his stare at the road ahead of them to slap his hand away.

“Will you stop fiddling with my radio?” Grantaire hisses, changing it back to his station with a flick of his wrist.

“And what if I don’t stop fiddling?” Enjolras giggles and Grantaire hopes to God that Enjolras doesn’t notice him swallow and how hard that sound makes him, his mind conjouring thoughts of exactly what Enjolras _could_ be fiddling with.

“You better.” Is all he can manage without his voice cracking or squeaking and Enjolras just talks about everything and nothing the rest of the way with Grantaire muttering and nodding along. He’s got bigger things on his mind, like the fact he’s hard and all it will take is Enjolras to glance in the wrong direction. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks and he really can’t think of a worse time, at all.

Enjolras fiddles for the rest of the journey, unable to choose what station to stay on before finally opting for the CD player instead. Grantaire’s kept the classical CD in the player since the first time he took him home. 

“Go the back way.” He mutters, and Grantaire quirks his eyebrow.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to go in yet, it’s been hell since my father came home.” 

“That happens, yeah.” Grantaire sighs and takes the turn that Enjolras points to that’ll take him to the old entrance round the back and through the gardens. The lane is only wide enough for one car and he’s never been this way. There are piles of golden brown leaves from the trees that are shedding and he squints against the sunlight through the branches. 

“Stop here.” Enjolras makes him stop by a fir tree and what looks like an old gate house. Grantaire’s seen the manor Enjolras lives in, and it’s so different to what he knows but it’s beautiful and he couldn’t see Enjolras living anywhere else apart from maybe in his bed on a Sunday morning with the soft morning sun illuminating his features. “We’ve not had much time together.”

“I know.” Enjolras has a hand cupping his face, and it’s Grantaire who closes the distance between them, his mouth soft and Enjolras curls his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. It does sinful things to Grantaire, and he doesn’t mean to moan against his mouth. Enjolras has a wicked mind. 

They kiss for a while, soft and sweet until Grantaire can’t take it anymore, and he pulls him closer and then Enjolras unbuckles his seat belt and clambers over into Grantaire’s lap, his hands fisting themselves in his hair and Grantaire kisses the exposed skin of his neck. He wants to mark it, leave a purple smudge there that says ‘mine’ on his cream skin but he knows he won’t let him. He’s not sure how he ends up trying to pull Enjolras closer still to him, his hands finding his hips and then his arse and he just wants more. He’s so far gone on this boy with his golden hair and his sinful mouth. He tastes of cherries and coffee and chocolate and it’s so fitting he tastes like some of Grantaire’s favourite things. Enjolras breaks them apart when he needs to breathe, panting loudly and pressing his forehead against Grantaire’s. His fingers fumble with the buttons on his blazer and Grantaire looks at him with surprise.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and Enjolras nods. 

“Just take it off, R.” He doesn’t tell him if his mother smells mint and tobacco on him she’ll kill him. Grantaire all but rips his blazer from his shoulders, desperately trying to unknot his tie. 

“You’re beautiful.” He mutters, and there’s a pang of jealousy in his gut. Enjolras is thin and willowy, with cream skin and a mole where his neck meets his collarbone. Grantaire thinks of his own body, how he’s a foot and a half taller than his mother and seven inches taller than his father and there’s no explanation why. He thinks of how strange he looks, with his body stretched over a frame too big for him. He’s not even that tall, Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Bahorel are at least half a foot taller than him and Enjolras is catching up quickly, but he looks odd and calls himself ugly.

Enjolras lets his fingers trace down his chest, watching them as Grantaire leans up for another kiss and it’s sloppy but he grinds up into him and Enjolras breaks the kiss as he tips his head back to moan, Grantaire taking up the open invitation in his neck as his fingers trail lower and lower.

“Stop.” He pushes him back, and Grantaire’s pupils are blown wide. “I’ve never had anyone, I.” Enjolras seems to choke on his words and Grantaire slides his thumb across his cheek.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Enjolras nods slowly, sliding his fingers through Grantaire’s.

“Your hands are cold.” He mutters, kissing each finger and then the back of his hand and then turning them over so he can kiss his wrists. 

“Ever?” Grantaire finds his innocence intriguing, he’s never quite met anyone like Enjolras.

“Ever. I’ve never really done this sort of thing before.”

So that’s what they were, a thing. Grantaire just nods, kisses him again and it’s slower.

“Is that why you freaked out when I kissed you that first time?” 

“No, I’ve kissed other people. Just not like that.” 

“Not like what?”

“I’ve not just been grabbed by someone and kissed, if that’s your pickup line you need to find a new one.” Grantaire laughs, harder than he should.

“It worked on you.” Enjolras punches his arm, and Grantaire helps him button his shirt back up. 

“You have a lot to thank Courfeyrac for.” Enjolras giggles and he slides his hands into his hair, running his fingers through his curls. Grantaire leans up to kiss him once more and he sighs when he sees the clock on the radio.

“I need to head off if I’m going to be in time for my appointment. Do you mind walking the rest of the way.” 

“No.” Enjolras leans down for another kiss, and then he kisses Grantaire’s nose, and then each cheek. “Good luck.” He smiles, untangling himself from his legs and sliding back over into his seat, picking up his bad and pulling Grantaire back in for one last kiss before he leaves.

“We should probably stop saying goodbye like this.” Grantaire laughs, and it’s bittersweet. Enjolras smiles and waves as he begins the walk from the gate house and Grantaire turns his car and begins the drive back through the lane in the woods.

He can’t tell him, he fears it would break his own heart too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god so short chapter I'm so sorry but at least it's on time right? right?
> 
> I apologise deeply I just wanted teen boyfriends and more barricade boys and ooh look devices.


	6. Five - Câliner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire swung in his chair and Enjolras watched him. Combeferre checked the names in his book, and then asked Feuilly for a coffee and Grantaire asked if he could have whiskey in his coffee and Feuilly laughed. It was such a stark contrast to Grantaire last night, withdrawn and serious and he looked older. Enjolras tries to catch his eye but he refuses to look at him, dropping his head away as he talks to Feuilly and Bahorel and Jehan jumps onto Bahorel’s lap and takes his coffee and they’re happy. They smile and laugh and Enjolras can’t help but wonder if it’s him, Grantaire has been off with him for the past two weeks and it’s so unlike him to be off with anyone. He folds his arms across his chest and frowns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry this took so long to update!  
> I've been super busy, so have a chapter with some Joly and Grantaire and Bossuet and Combeferre bonding time.  
> I also have more treats on the way so bear with me, please!

Grantaire doesn’t tell anyone where he goes in the evenings, and it’s become normal that every Monday night he leaves early and comes home late. Sometimes he looks like he’s been crying, sometimes he’s drunk or stoned or he doesn’t say a word to any of them. Joly notices his new pills, and he realises they’re for his heart one evening when he’s alone with the laptop in the common room. He doesn’t say anything, even when Courfeyrac asks one night. Grantaire will tell them in his own time. 

Jehan finally sleeps in Courfeyrac’s bed, and it’s not half as bad as Joly expected. Courf had fallen asleep before Jehan could even undress him and Joly had tucked them in together and sat up reading Harry Potter, his sleeping pills had stopped working months ago yet not even his doctor noticed the dark circles under his eyes and he’s never felt the need to mention it because he can do things at night. Jehan rolls in his sleep and the bedsheets crinkle and he seems to end up even more tangled in Courfeyrac’s web of limbs. It’s just after midnight when he walks to the kitchenette to get a glass of water and he can hear someone playing Gustav Holst’s Mars Suite through their radio.

 

\---

 

Enjolras is stood on the table, in what feels like a mutiny. It had started with Grantaire, who’d asked why Enjolras was always the one who chaired the meetings, and then Marius had joined in. Marius who, up until this point, Enjolras had actually quite liked. And once Marius had stood up, Jehan jumped to his feet giggling and Courfeyrac had stood and crossed his arms. Combeferre stayed seated, an amused smile playing on his lips and his feet on the table. Joly had been the next to stand and he was making some speech about how it was ironic that their leader, who has so many problems with the leadership of the government, was so happy to be the leader without letting anyone else have a go. Bahorel stands up and joins in, and it was nice of him to join them, but not if he’s just going to join in with the odd word of Joly’s speech. Feuilly and Bossuet join in too, eventually, and Grantaire laughs from the back of the room. Courfeyrac tackles Enjolras to the floor with a cry of ‘Revolution!’ and there’s an eruption of laughter. Enjolras manages to scramble up onto the table and it sways under his weight, fifty year old school desks aren’t used to being stood on by growing fifteen year olds.

“Quiet!” 

He goes unheard as Courfeyrac bangs his head on the corner of the table as he tries to stand up and he tries his best to steady himself as the table top wobbles. 

“Let the man speak!” Grantaire yells. 

He’s still sat down at the back of the room and laughing along with the rest of them, it’s a stark contrast to yesterday evening, when Grantaire had barely said two words to him and tried his hardest to act like there was nothing wrong at all.

“He’s hardly a man.”

Bahorel chuckles, and Combeferre laughs just a little bit too loudly.

“I can think of plenty of places he’s a man, in fact-” 

Grantaire smirks and Enjolras can feel his cheeks burning.

“-Grantaire, will you _shut up_.” 

He snaps. Grantaire catches his eye and runs his tongue over his bottom lip and Enjolras swallows. Even Courfeyrac is silent now, Enjolras is terrifying when he’s angry and there was a flash of blind anger when he snapped and it was enough to stun them all. He’s normally so collected and calm and able to control situations without shouting or yelling to make them listen.

“Right, so if you have any complaints or would like to put yourself forward to be our next leader, please give your name to Combeferre and we can have an election next meeting. Jehan, you told me you wanted to speak.” 

Enjolras jumps off the table and he lands lightly on his feet. He doesn’t sit with Grantaire, instead taking Jehan’s place next to Courfeyrac where he can watch Grantaire out of the corner of his eye. Grantaire swings over his chair and someone, possibly Bahorel or Feuilly, groans when Jehan begins to talk about the cosmetics plant that’s still testing on animals. Enjolras pretends to listen, nodding his head as he watches Grantaire. Grantaire catches him watching, and Grantaire drops his head down so he’s staring at his lap and then he joins in with Courfeyrac who applauds when Jehan finishes with a bow.

“I’d like to speak.” 

Combeferre raises his hand and Enjolras nods. He stands and sits on the edge of the table, his notebook open. 

“Okay, so I’ve noticed that we don’t really do much. We have these speeches and we leave it there. We need to do more protesting, we need to get our names out there.”  
Combeferre flicks back a few pages in his notebook, and he pushes his glasses back up his nose.

“Jehan was talking about the animal testing , don’t look at me like that Bahorel, and I couldn’t help but wonder, what if we did something? What if we made fliers and held a protest, and we did something. And once we’d done that, we moved onto something else, we moved onto how the mayor is running his politics through whoever can pay the most. We get our name out there as more than just some kids trying to make a change. I’ve already thought it through, Bossuet, you’re good with coding and programming, right? And Grantaire, you’re one of the best artists I’ve ever seen. We can get a website, fliers, posters and we can spread the word and our aims. I’m really surprised no one had thought of this before at all.”

“I can help Bossuet with coding.” 

Marius cuts in, and Combeferre takes the pen from behind his ear and makes the note in his notebook.

“Does anyone else have anything they’d like to add?”

Combeferre looks round and Enjolras thinks he’s brilliant. He’d never thought of 

“I have a camera, if you want someone who takes pictures?”

Joly shrugged and Combeferre made another note, smiling to himself. 

“I’ll do it! I can do the writing bits.” 

Jehan was bouncing in his seat, and Combeferre checked what he’d written, pushing his glasses back up his nose again. 

“Anyone else? Grantaire, are you okay with being our artist?”

“Yeah, sure.” 

Grantaire swung in his chair and Enjolras watched him. Combeferre checked the names in his book, and then asked Feuilly for a coffee and Grantaire asked if he could have whiskey in his coffee and Feuilly laughed. It was such a stark contrast to Grantaire last night, withdrawn and serious and he looked older. Enjolras tries to catch his eye but he refuses to look at him, dropping his head away as he talks to Feuilly and Bahorel and Jehan jumps onto Bahorel’s lap and takes his coffee and they’re happy. They smile and laugh and Enjolras can’t help but wonder if it’s him, Grantaire has been off with him for the past two weeks and it’s so unlike him to be off with anyone. He folds his arms across his chest and frowns.

“Tea?” 

Joly sits next to him, holding a mug out and Enjolras takes it from him.

“Thanks.” 

Joly makes the best tea, better than Jehan who’s become a tea expert lately. Joly seems to have this memory that no one else has when it comes to how people drink their tea and their coffee. He even remembered that Enjolras takes one and a half sugars and a splash of milk but not too much that it’s anything close to beige. 

“Joly, do you know if anything’s wrong with Grantaire?” 

Enjolras asks without thinking and he catches Joly by surprise. He can’t take his eyes off him, and he doesn’t look his way once. It’s strange, before it was Enjolras who didn’t want to show him off in front of his friends. Now the roles are reversed and it’s Grantaire who won’t acknowledge him.

“He hasn’t told me anything, but I know he’s got new pills. I don’t know what they’re for though.”

Joly shrugs, he’s lying. He knows exactly what Grantaire’s pills are for because he looked it up. Joly knows that Grantaire’s started taking sleeping pills and he’s stopped taking the pills for his ADD. 

 

 

\---

 

 

Enjolras grabs his wrist when he tries to leave, and Grantaire finally looks at him.

“Hey.” 

Grantaire smiles and Enjolras keeps his firm hold on his arm.

“Grantaire, we need to talk.”

He growls and Grantaire nods his head, his curls bounce and Marius slips past them with a muttered ‘bye’. 

“Yeah, you’re right we need to talk. Are we going to do this here?” 

Grantaire’s eyes move around the room behind Enjolras, at Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Joly and Bossuet. 

“I don’t know, are you going to tell me why you’ve been so off with me?”

“I haven’t been off with you.”

Grantaire laughs, he actually laughs and Enjolras cannot believe him. 

“Grantaire, we’ve barely spent any time together in the past two weeks. Not that we spent much time together in the first place, but it feels like you’re avoiding me. And you won’t talk to me, I just want to know why you’re being off with me. I haven’t done something have I? Do you even like me or is this some joke to you?”

Grantaire leans forward and he kisses him. Enjolras isn’t expecting it and he pushes him back as fast and as hard as he could. 

“Is that an answer for you?”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow and Enjolras balls his fists, he rocks on his feet and those left in the room have gone silent. 

“No, no it’s not a fucking answer! What is wrong with you Grantaire?”

“I could ask the same about you.”

Enjolras opens his mouth, but he can’t think of clever words to say. He’s angry, angry that Grantaire thinks a kiss is enough to give him the answers he needs to hear. Grantaire is the bellows to the fire that burns at Enjolras’ core and he’s set him alight. 

“No, you know what? Fuck you.”

Enjolras yells, dropping his wrist and storming out. He pushes past Grantaire, his head held high as he walks along the hall corridor.

“Well done Grantaire.”

Combeferre shakes his head and slides his notebook back into his bag and slings it over his shoulder.

“What for?”

“Enjolras hardly ever swears, so you must have done something amazing to get two out of him.”

Combeferre leaves to run after his friend, and Grantaire doesn’t blame him. He’d run after Enjolras if only Enjolras would let him.

Grantaire looks after him like a puppy looks after his master and Courfeyrac pats his shoulder gently. 

“He’s a tough guy to love, we all know that.”

“Courfeyrac, I’d rather you didn’t.” 

He sighs, and Courfeyrac just gives him another pat on the shoulder and leaves, Jehan gives him an apologetic smile, hot on his heels as it always is these days.

Enjolras walks so fast he catches up with Marius who’s whistling as he walks across the courtyard and heads to the bus stop round by the orchard. Marius waves and Enjolras cracks half a smile. He likes Marius, he’s a nice guy. His background differs slightly from Enjolras but they’re from the same type of family. Marius is well mannered and polite and he has a wicked sharp sense of humour. He speaks German, French and English and he seems to know a little bit about everything. Enjolras likes him even if he doesn’t agree with his politics, and he hates to admit it but he thinks they might even end up friends. He also thinks Courfeyrac might be a little bit in love with Marius, but then Courfeyrac seems to be a little bit in love with everyone.

“How do you do it Marius?”

Enjolras can’t help but ask, Marius is the only person he knows in a stable relationship. Marius chuckles.

“Do you believe in fate?”

Marius quirks his eyebrow, reaching into his blazer pockets for something an turning them inside out as he searches. He hands Enjolras his phone and his wallet without a word. 

“To some extent, yes.” 

“Fate brings people together, it’s a common misconception that fate dooms relationships, or that fate had nothing to do with relationships, but that’s wrong. Fate brings people together, even if the relationship doesn’t work out, even if it’s a bad relationship fate brought you together for a reason and fate split you for a reason.”

“And what is that reason?”

“That’s what you have to find out, young Padawan.”

Enjolras laughs, he can’t help it.

“I thought you were meant to be intelligent, Marius?” He teases and Marius shrugs.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Fate will decide that.” Marius laughs with him this time, “You’ll work it out though. Grantaire’s not trying to hurt you, anyone can see that. You’ve both been dancing around each other for weeks.”

“You haven’t known us for weeks.”

“I’ve heard stories.” Marius shrugs again, “I have to go, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nods towards the bus stop, and Enjolras tips his head in goodbye. Marius is so vague sometimes Enjolras wonders if he knows what he’s talking about sometimes. Courfeyrac was right when he said he’d find Marius interesting, Marius brings a new side to each debate and it’s a fresh perspective even if it’s one he finds deeply flawed and doesn’t agree with. 

Enjolras is dying for a cigarette but he promised Combeferre he’d quit with him and so far neither has relapsed, and it’ll be good to finally kick the habit once and for all. Enjolras wonders if Grantaire’s a habit yet, if getting rid of him will leave him missing every second of every kiss and he’ll crave his touch even harder when he knows he can’t have it. He doesn’t know what Grantaire is, they’ve been laughing and talking and touching, oh god they’ve been touching. Grantaire’s fingertips trail fire across his skin and his palms have a familiar warmth that just makes him feel untouchable. They’ve not done more than kiss, not yet anyway. Enjolras is fine to kiss until he can’t breathe and he’s painfully hard and straddling Grantaire’s lap, but he’s never had the same drive that Courfeyrac has when it comes to sex and he’s never been the romantic like Jehan and for once in his life he really doesn’t know what to do and he can’t run to his mother to ask for help.

 

 

\---

 

 

“Jehan, there’s a Game of Thrones marathon on Sky Three tonight. Bossuet, Combeferre, Grantaire and I are all staying up for it. Do you want to join us?”

“I can’t Joly, I’m sorry. Courfeyrac convinced matron to let him go into town after school, he’s asked me if I want to get coffee.” Jehan shrugs and gives Joly that small smile, running a hand through his uneven red hair and trying his hardest to look apologetic. 

“Oh.” Joly feels his heart sink, he wants to say so much more. He wants to tell Jehan he can’t sleep at night anymore and he worries for him because Jehan has always come to him when he’s hurting. He wants to tell him he’s worried that he’s sick and he’s lost far too much weight and he thinks he might have an eating disorder, and he wants Jehan to laugh and tell him he’s wrong, that he doesn’t have an eating disorder and he has lost weight but it’s fine he’s putting it back on. 

He feels like Courfeyrac has sandwiched himself between them, the filling between two slices of bread. Joly was the one who took Jehan under his wing when he first saw this tiny little first year in a blazer three sizes too big shivering in the cold and trying not to cry because his parents hadn’t even been there to send him off to boarding school. Jehan was the younger brother Joly wished he had and he wanted to warn him about Courfeyrac and give the ‘if you hurt him’ speech but since Jehan got back, Courfeyrac has stuck to him like glue and followed him like a shadow. Joly would call it sickening, the way Courfeyrac seemed to be actually trying to woo Jehan, but this was so unlike Courf it left him baffled. Courfeyrac had perfected the art of one-liners and no-strings-attached but so far he had been nothing but the person who kissed Jehan’s temple and let him cuddle whilst watching some crappy TV show no one really liked. 

It wasn’t like Joly hadn’t tried, but Jehan had shut him out. He’d shut everyone out apart from Courfeyrac and Joly was trying his hardest to balance the feeling of isolation and the loneliness that came with nights alone.

So when he was sat on the sofa, squashed against Bossuet who had his arm dangling loosely around his waist, and Grantaire who had stretched out and was letting his legs dangle off the arm and had his head in Joly’s lap. Combeferre was carrying a tray laden with suitable sofa food that he’d found in the sixth form cupboard. They had no oven in the kitchenette and usually the cupboard held an assortment of Pot Noodles, pasta, and anything that could be heated in a microwave in less than four minutes. 

“Combeferre, you’re a saint.” Grantaire sat up, and Combeferre set the tray down and pulled Grantaire’s legs off the couch. 

“There was popcorn at the back, behind Bahorel’s biscuit jar. It’s salted and it was a few weeks out of date, but it tastes good. I’ve made tea for you Joly, and coffee for everyone else. Yes I did remember three sugars and lots of milk Bossuet.” Combeferre sighed, sitting down as the opening titles started.  
Grantaire picked up his coffee and sipped it, then pulled out a hip-flask.

“I need to make my own adjustments.” He muttered when he saw Joly watching him, and he poured something that looked and smelt like whiskey into his mug, stirring it briefly with his finger.

“Should we ruin the end for Stark-boy?” Bossuet laughed, and Combeferre clamped his hands over his ears.

“Just because I haven’t seen series two and three yet.” He cried, and Grantaire smirked, taking another sip of his coffee and settling back deeper into the sofa cushions.   
There was a pleasant silence that fell over them, apart from the occasional laughter and Combeferre’s cries when another injustice against the Stark’s was performed. 

“Ferre, will you be quiet, I’m trying to watch?” Grantaire elbowed his side when Combeferre let out another squeal of irritation.

“Just because everything’s fine for your characters, _Tyrell_.” He hissed. Bossuet cackled, and Joly glanced up at him, smiling and kissing his cheek softly. “Don’t you laugh too, Lannister. I’m sure Targaryen would agree with me.”

“I’m a Greyjoy,” Joly said, the smile fading from his face, “Jehan’s the Targaryen.” Bossuet ran his fingers through his hair, and Joly leaned into his touch, shutting his eyes.

“What house is Enjolras in?” 

Bossuet groaned, and Joly smiled as he leaned back against him and Bossuet pulled his arm round him tighter.

“Do you ever think of anything else Grantaire?” Bossuet asked, leaning over Joly to ruffle his hair.

“I miss him. I should have run after him today.”

“He’d been talking to Marius when I caught up with him, I’ve never seen him so angry.” Combeferre let Grantaire lean his head on his shoulder, as he kicked his legs up onto the coffee table.

“I think I might love him.” 

Combeferre groans along with Bossuet.

“How much whiskey did you put in there?”

“Not enough.” 

“Grantaire!” Joly pulls the hipflask away from him. “Where do you even get all this alcohol from?”

“I hide it, I know the places Matron doesn’t look when she does room checks.” He laughs, but he’s the only one. Joly settles back against Bossuet, and it’s that peaceful quiet again that’s only interrupted by Combeferre’s squeaks and Grantaire elbowing him in the ribs and shushing him.

It’s half ten and they’re half way through episode three when Courfeyrac stumbles through the door, rosy cheeked and looking far too happy with himself.

“Evening.” He grins, and Joly swears he sees him giggle. 

“Where’s Jehan? You’re back really late.” Joly sits up and Bossuet pulls him back into his lap, fingers massaging small circles into his shoulders. Courfeyrac collapses into the old armchair and drums his fingers on the sagging arms.

“Relax, I brought him home at eight.” Courfeyrac’s smile is so big and Joly is sure he has never seen him blush until now, and his cheeks are slowly getting redder.

“Courfeyrac, you sly dog.” Grantaire laughs and Joly rises to punch him, and Bossuet pulls him closer.

“Well, did you fuck him?” Combeferre sounds like he mirrors Joly’s concerns. Courfeyrac looks like a deer in headlights. 

“No, of course I didn’t! This is Jehan, he’s like, I don’t know.” 

_He’s like my baby brother_ Joly thinks, and were it not for Bossuet he would probably have Courfeyrac pinned to the wall by his throat.

“We got coffee, and he wanted to go down to the river and watch the boats so we did, and then we got the bus back to school. I took him down to the orchard and we talked and we might have made out a little bit but Matron wouldn’t let him come upstairs with me because apparently we’ve both got classes tomorrow-”

“Apparently.” Combeferre snorts.

“-and he’s the sweetest thing ever, and he’s amazing. You wouldn’t think it but he knows so much and after what happened with his aunt’s funeral and his family he’s still so strong and he told me about his poetry and how he sometimes sketches and I really think he’s amazing.” 

Combeferre looks shocked, and he looks to Joly before he looks back to Courfeyrac.

“Are you, are you okay Courf?” 

“Yeah, why?”

“I’ve never had you down as someone who goes for dates and _watches the boats on the river._ ” Combeferre bites his lip and his voice rises like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, well we did. And it was nice. And I’m going to bed now.” Courfeyrac raises his hands and trips as he walks towards the hallway and Joly hears the door of their shared room slam. Bossuet taps Joly’s knee gently, and he looks away from the screen for a moment and looks up at him.

“You alright?” He asks, and Joly nods quickly.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

 

 

\---

 

 

Grantaire can feel Combeferre’s knee pressed against his thigh, and he thinks how easy it would be to just lean over and kiss him. He can see Bossuet and Joly out of the corner of his eye, this close bond between them that no one can explain. He knows they both miss Musichetta when they spend their days stuck in the boarding house and they spend their evening time together, wrapped around each other and pressing soft kisses to mouths and foreheads.

He wants the closeness, the warmth of someone in his arms with their head against his chest and who sometimes will squirm on his lap and leans back into his chest. He wants to feel like his arms protect them from everything the world can throw at the both of them. He wants Enjolras with him so he can kiss him and hold him and keep him in his own little bubble that stops anyone breaking their peace.

Combeferre accidentally nudges him, the bruises on his forearms don’t sting anymore, they’ve faded to a yellow and he can pass them off as war-wounds from a boxing match he lost. He can pass all his scars off as boxing or brawling or something that people expect from him. 

He spends the next two episodes thinking of Enjolras, of how he’s fucked up this time. He thinks of the time Enjolras straddled him in his car and teased him and left him painfully hard and how he’d waited until he was out of site before he put his hand into his boxers. He’d never felt so sleazy in his life, and it was replaced by this cold numbness after his visit to the hospital.

He heads to bed around midnight, he says he’s tired and Bossuet has already fallen asleep with Joly in his lap and Combeferre and Bossuet are in a heated debate over the Lannisters. They won’t miss him, and Combeferre raises his hand when he sees Grantaire’s retreating back. He’s glad he’s got his own room, down the end of the corridor and up a small flight of stairs in the top corner of the rafters. It’s not like anyone wants to share with Grantaire, he used to have a room with Bahorel until Courfeyrac was moved last year as he kept disrupting the fourth and fifth form boys, and Grantaire had a few fights with Bahorel and they soon learnt that sharing a room with him was nearly impossible. He liked his attic room, with the round window and the view over the rooftops of the city.

Once he had the door shut behind him, he thought of Enjolras, the blond Adonis. The Achilles he wished he could find better comparisons for, because his knowledge of Greek heroes was so brief. He thought of how he licked his lips and he teased, how he teased without knowing it. Grantaire’s hand has the button of his jeans undone and is desperately tugging at his fly before he knows what he’s doing, his jeans sliding part of the way over his thighs and he’s half hard through his boxers. He slips his hand inside the waist band and sighs, finding the up and down. His hand strokes over his cock and he moans loud and clear. He’s loud enough that at home his mother comes in to tell him to stop wanking, that he can make any dinner awkward. 

He bites down hard on his lip as his hand works furiously, the warmth in his stomach rising and his whole body tensing as he feels himself get closer and closer. His hand is slick with precum and when he does come he comes with Enjolras’ name on his lips, and he feels cheaper than he did in the car.

He needs to fix things with Enjolras, he needs him here by his side and he needs to confront him and tell him how he feels.


	7. amitié

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so so sorry this is so short and so so sorry this has taken so long i've been so busy with school that Bubbles has taken a back burner and i really just wanted to get something posted for you guys i apologise for the painfully bad and short chapter.

_I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you.  
you know I never mean to upset you – R xxx_

 

_I mean it, I’m so sorry – R xx_

 

_Please talk to me  
I want to fix this – R x_

 

“I really hope you don’t mind, I just need a friend right now.” Joly wraps his fingers around his mug of tea, he’s sat cross-legged on Grantaire’s bed. Grantaire bites his lip and looks back at his phone screen.

 

_I miss you – R_

 

Joly sighs and sips from his cup, teeth clinking with the china. Grantaire gives him a half smile and slides his phone onto his bedside table. He doesn’t usually let anyone else into his room, not unless it’s while he’s getting something for them. Joly was an exception, he was the listener who you could confide in and Grantaire had noticed how his smiles seemed tighter and more forced.

“You need something stronger than tea.”

“I can’t drink alcohol.”

“Oh?”

“New meds.” 

Grantaire nodded, and then raised his head.

“Have you been in the medicine cupboard?” His voice was unusual sharp, and Joly nodded once.

“Grantaire, I know what pills everyone takes. I remember it like I remember everyone’s coffee and tea orders. I know you’re on some pretty heavy stuff right now, want to tell me what’s going on?” He raised an eyebrow and Grantaire turned away. 

“Why were you looking at stuff that wasn’t yours?” Grantaire growls and it makes Joly jump.

“I can’t,” Joly pauses and swallows, “I can’t help it, you know that. I thought of all people R, you’d understand. Do you know what it’s like? Do you know how hard it is getting a pain in your chest and getting this overwhelming feeling that there’s something wrong with your heart, that it’s going to kill you? Or when you have a bad headache that there’s something wrong with your brain, that there’s I don’t know, a tumour in there that’s slowly eating your life away?”

“Take some.” Grantaire slides a bottle of Jack Daniel’s out from under his pillow and hands it to him.

“I can’t.”

“Fuck it.” 

Joly returns Grantaire’s smile and sips, he doesn’t gag and he hands the bottle back, falling flat onto the bed. Grantaire copies him and they’re at opposites, Joly’s feet touch the headboard while Grantaire’s dangle from the bottom. There’s a silence, and it’s comfortable. 

“If I were drunk, I’d kiss you.” Grantaire mutters, and he glances at Joly’s lips.

“Why don’t you?” Joly meets his eyes.

“I don’t think Bossuet could handle another person in your relationship.” Grantaire smirks, and Joly snorts with laughter. Grantaire flips onto his stomach and he traces patterns on Joly’s wrist.

“Bossuet manages fine with me and 'Chetta.” He mutters, and Grantaire nods slowly.

“How does it work? How did you tell your parents you’re seeing two people at once?”

“My mother thinks me and Bossuet are best friends, and that Musichetta’s my girlfriend but she’s cheating on me with Bossuet.” Joly laughs and Grantaire smiles at him, and it’s one of those big smiles that takes up his whole face.

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

“How does sex work?”

Joly swallows and stares up at the ceiling.

“I, uhm, well sometimes it’s me and 'Chetta. Sometimes it’s Bossuet and 'Chetta. When Chetta’s away it’s usually me and Bossuet and then I guess we’ve sort of had a few threesomes too. It’s pretty amazing, if I’m honest.”

He bites his lip and Grantaire is looking at him with what only can be described as awe. He reaches across Joly for his bottle of whiskey and brings it up to his lips. 

“You’ve been in a threesome?”

“It sort of comes with the territory of being in a relationship with two people.” Joly shrugs and Grantaire’s smile falters as he glances at his home screen of his phone, telling him he has no new messages. Flipping onto his belly, Joly rests his chin on his elbows and bumps his shoulder against Grantaire’s, “Hey, what about you? Any threesomes or wild animalistic sex with our ferocious leader?”

“I fucking wish.” Grantaire rolls onto his back again, sighing deeply. “He’s not even talking to me right now.” 

“Give him time, don’t text him.” Joly giggles, and he bats at the phone in his hand. Joly’s cheeks are pink and he takes the bottle from Grantaire.

 

\---

 

Grantaire wakes up and there’s someone in his bed. His head pounds and he’s disoriented when he first wakes, and then he realises it’s _Joly_ in his bed, and his surprise sends him flying onto the floor with a bang. Joly wakes, and glares at him.

“R, what the fuck am I doing in your bed?” He sounds groggy, and brings a hand up to his head. Grantaire is still wearing yesterday’s jeans, thank god, and there’s sunlight streaming through his window and an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor. His phone beeps and Grantaire grabs at it, stumbling as he tries to stand and realises he’s still maybe a bit drunk.

Enjolras has texted him, a simple ‘fuck off’. He groans when he sees the messages that have been sent, when he was drunk and he’s sure one or two have been sent by Joly.   
Joly swears he had nothing to do with it.

 

\---

 

Enjolras has his bag over he strides through the school gates, taking a deep breath and feeling the stab when he sees dark curls, and realises the build is wrong at just the right time to get his breath back.

He avoids Grantaire, they’re having their first fight and they’re not even a couple yet. It’s not hard to avoid him at lunch, he has work for economics he needs to finish and Feuilly asked if he could meet him to discuss his history work. 

He sees Grantaire, between classes and his heart races and pounds on his ribs. Fridays have never been this stressful and he sleeps through his German class. Marius approaches him at some point, talking about some coding he’s trying out for their website and Enjolras tells him to talk to Combeferre.

The fire that Grantaire ignited is dwindling, and it’s only as he waits for his mother and familiar fingers grip his wrist that he feels it begin to kindle and burn again.   
Grantaire’s fingers are cool against his wrist and Enjolras spins, reaching for his hand out of habit.

“Grantaire.” He sounds breathless, he sounds like he’s missed him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Grantaire bites his lip, Enjolras pulls him into a hug and Grantaire squeezes him. He presses silent ‘sorrys’ against his skin and Enjolras holds him tighter. He can smell mint and tobacco and it makes him feel safe, like this is where he belongs in arms that are big enough to hold all of him.

“I missed you too.” Enjolras mumbles, and Grantaire just kisses him hard, his fingers sliding through his hair as their mouths meld together. They’re so cold against his neck, colder than fingers should be and colder than Grantaire’s soft lips.

“We need to fix this, we need to talk. I need to tell you so much.” 

“Tell me then, R.”

“I can’t, not here.”

“Why not?”

“This is private, there are people out here.” Grantaire gestures to the kids around them that are heading home and Enjolras tips his head back and giggles, because some of them must be half their size and they don’t really care about a boy with odd cold fingers and a boy with golden hair.

“Are you still going to be off with me?”

“Enjolras, you need to understand,” Grantaire shuts his eyes and laces their palms together, gives his hand a squeeze, “there’s more to this. It’s not just about me and a bad relationship with my father and Mary Jane and Jack Daniels, there’s this thing and I, fuck. I’ll tell you later.” 

The kiss Grantaire pulls him into knocks the breath out of him, his hand slides up to cup his cheek and his lips move so softly against his, his mouth rolling and he thumbs his cheekbones. Enjolras feels his heart erupt, If this is love then he is in love and he never wants to be out of love.

A car beeps and Enjolras jumps, he turns to face his mother who doesn’t look happy, and he doesn’t look back when Grantaire waves. Grantaire turns to fetch his bags and drive himself home for an hour.

 

\---

 

“Grantaire, the headmaster wants to see you.” Courfeyrac has run up the stairs, he’s breathless and for once he isn’t laughing. Grantaire has only just arrived, really. He’s sat on the sofa on the common room and is drinking from his hipflask.

“Is this about the whiskey?” He tipped his head and Courfeyrac looked at him before he shook his head.

“This is a lot more serious than the whiskey. If it’s anything like the ballix I was just made to listen to, then you’re fucked.” 

“Is this about refusing to share my room? I know we’re getting a new boarder this week but I refuse to share, and you know that and you know why.” 

“It’s not about that at all Grantaire, I really think you should go down now because it looked pretty damn serious.”

 

\---

 

His fingers shook as he tried to light his cigarette, his legs crossed as the lighter flicked but didn’t light. He needed the nicotine, he had Courfeyrac’s bottle of vodka that he hid in the bookcase wrapped in a coat, if it did anything it would make him sleep for a few hours. He swore as the lighter flickered and popped and spluttered, he needed Enjolras and his magic hands that could light any lighter. He didn’t give up, and when he finally got a light he inhaled greedily, the smoke billowing out through his mouth when he finally exhaled.

Each drag of the cigarette and swig of vodka didn’t stop him from feeling angry, feeling his world shattering, the biting tone of authority scolding him like he was four years old. He’d broken many school rules in his time, and he would have screamed out something about homophobia if it wasn’t for the controlled anger in the face of his principal that made him tremble the same way he did in the presence of his father when he’d had a drink or when he was sober and wanted a drink. He thought of how the man would be proud of him, sat in an orchard at his private school swigging vodka straight from the bottle.

He would have passed out there on the bench, had Bahorel not convinced him to come back inside and half-carried him onto the couch so he could pass out, because Bahorel was a saint in human form, all six foot seven of Bahorel was a saint. 

He woke up with fuzzy eyes and a pounding in his skull and Feuilly working, as always, around the coffee table.

“What time is it?”

“It’s half two, you’ve slept all day.” Feuilly sighed, scratching at the back of his neck with his pen between his teeth.

“What are you doing here?” 

“I get out early.”

Grantaire nodded, someone had left a glass of water and nurofen for him on the coffee table. Feuilly saw where he was looking and passed them across the table.

“Joly left them out for you.” 

“He’s a sweetheart.”

“He’s worried.”

“He always worries.”

Feuilly smiled, turning back to his work in front of him. Grantaire popped the pills into his mouth, downing the whole glass of water and settling himself back down onto the couch.

“I’m going back to sleep, if you don’t mind?”

“Work away R.”

 

\---

 

Enjolras had spent his day fighting with tears that stung his eyes, and his nails were bitten down and lips red with how his teeth tugged at them and he bit at his lip. He could still taste Grantaire on his lips, mint and tobacco lingered on his blazer and it was unintentional that he found himself burying his nose into the collar so he could smell it.  
His mother had dropped his things at the office of the boarding house in the morning, told him he was to stay in boarding until Christmas and then they’d talk properly. Told him she needed to think about his future as though he had no interest in his future at all. Told him she’d sort this mess out.

Enjolras had had to try his hardest not to tell her she’d never sort this mess out, that he misses the taste of a boy nearly three years his senior who smokes far too much each day and sketches in the early morning and late evening when the sun rises and sets. 

His heart was heavy as he made his way up the stairs, he’d been told it was impossible for him to have the fifth form rooms as they were being repaired after a burst pipe and therefore all the other rooms on the third floor were taken, that he’d be in the attic with the sixth formers. He wasn’t complaining, it had been years since he last shared a room with Combeferre or Courfeyrac.

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac beamed at him as soon as he stepped foot through the door, leaping up from his seat on the couch so he could hug him.

“What room am I in Courf?”

“The only spare bed is in Grantaire’s room-”

“That’s really not a good idea that he goes near R’s room.” Bahorel called from where he was building what looked like a card house on the edge of the pool table.

“-however Grantaire is not the easiest person to room with as he doesn’t really share his space so I can move into his room and you can share with Joly if you’d like?” Courfeyrac gave him a hopeful smile. “I mean it’s not like Grantaire’s nasty or anything he just doesn’t like people in his personal stuff I guess. Well, you know what he’s like E.”

“I’m fine sharing with Grantaire.”

“Are you sure?” Bahorel coughed and Enjolras nodded. “On your head be it.” 

“Leave him Bahorel.” 

“I’m just saying Courf, this is going to go badly.”

 

\---

 

It did go badly, it went as badly as it could possibly go. Bahorel had volunteered to put Enjolras’ case in Grantaire’s room, and Grantaire had appeared when Enjolras was on the sofa with Feuilly and Jehan. He’d ignored them, only to come storming down later with his fists balled.

“Who the fuck has moved the beds in my room? And who the fuck has put those suitcases in. Courfeyrac I swear to fucking god if this is one of your jokes I will skin you alive.” He’d yelled, and Courfeyrac had nearly fallen off where he was perched in the kitchenette.

“It was me,” Enjolras stood up, and Grantaire turned on him. There was a silence that fell over the whole room, the threat of an explosion running through the air like bolts of lightning. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Enjolras had never seen him so angry.

“Grantaire, we’re just sharing a room it’s not that bad.”

“I can’t fucking believe you, Enjolras.”


End file.
